


Kamikakushi

by PandaFlower



Category: Naruto
Genre: Altering canon one 'Tobirama gets cuddled' scene at a time, At this point I've just gone mad with power, Definitely dragons at this point, Gen, Grumpy!Sleep Deprived!Tiny!Tobirama, I swear there's a plot it's just taking a while to get to, Kidnapping, Kodama DRAMA, Now with more Izuna, Pipe-foxes are household pests please don't bring them home, Possibly dragons, Shaping up to be a long-fic, Spirits, This is what happens when you don't get enough sleep, Unraveling Canon To Reweave It BETTER, You get kidnapped by spirits, fear me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 78,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaFlower/pseuds/PandaFlower
Summary: Tobirama is dearly wishing he'd just sucked it up and slept in a tree. Until he isn't anymore





	1. 99 problems and 1 tsukumogami

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puzzle_shipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puzzle_shipper/gifts).



 

Sarumura was a lovely little coastal village. It nestled between the sea to the south, a road to the north, and salt-and-wind swept Fire country oaks all around. It had just enough traffic to justify a modest inn, the atmosphere perpetually surprised by visitors but welcoming just the same.

Or at least, that’s how it usually is.

The fearful, suspicious atmosphere was new, but Tobirama was too exhausted and absolutely fed up to give a damn at this point. Two weeks he’d been on the road, and he’d only slept in fits and spurts because of incessant bandits.

The roads he was escorting a client down? Crawling with bandits.

The town he was dropping the client off at? Savaged by bandits.

The trees he was traveling back in? Full of bandits.

The most comfortable sleeping nook he’d ever found in that one lightning struck tree? Bandit territory.

Look, it was not his job to single handedly clear out all the bandits in southern Fire and he was going to kick whoever was falling down on the job somewhere painful because _this isn’t amateur hour_ and he shouldn’t have to pick up other people’s messes.

He did enough of that with Hashirama.

Tobirama did not give two shits if this town also had a bandit problem. He was going to sleep his little thirteen year old heart out _and then he would care._ Maybe. After his nap.

With that in mind he marched up to the one tiny inn the village boasted, ignoring the wide berth people were giving it, and... did not demand a room because he’d been raised with manners and he’d learned the hard way about taking his aggravation out on other people.

Namely, don’t. On pain of Touka.

“One room please. Single night stay.” Tobirama said, staring expectantly at the innkeeper who, for whatever reason, looked every bit as sleep deprived as Tobirama felt. And possibly on the verge of death.

The innkeeper slowly looked down at Tobirama, gaze distant, “We’re not taking any customers at this time. Thank you for your service.” He mumbled tiredly, by rote.

Tobirama scowled, “Why not? I can pay.” And it wasn’t like the place was in disrepair. It was actually fairly nice looking with wooden paneling, and wooden floors, cheery spring curtains cupping bright, clean windows. The hallway behind the front desk leading to the rooms was just as clean, and the doors were immaculate. Nothing _looked_ amiss but Tobirama supposed he hadn’t seen the rooms yet.

If possible, the innkeeper looked even more like death.

“We have been neglectful,” he rasped, seemingly ignoring the actual question, “we did not take care as we ought to. Now our mistakes haunt us with deathly hands! One by one the boroboroton will claim us all!” he collapsed, panting on his desk, greying mustache quivering, eyes wild, “Beware the boroboroton! You will sleep and never wake! The boroboroton!”

“Okay?” Tobirama said, he eyed the innkeeper dubiously, wondering if maybe he ought to inquire about his health, “Can I still have a room?” Really, a haunted futon? Did he look four?

When the Innkeeper just kept gargling senselessly, Tobirama seriously considered just walking out and sleeping in a tree again even though his back was killing him, and he didn’t feel safe out from cover while he was this low on energy and weapons. He eyed the old man again, wondering if he’d even notice if Tobirama just, walked by him. Actually, he paused at that thought. Mind made up, he walked around the desk and, pulling the ledger out from under the old Innkeeper, started comparing rooms and prices.

He dumped a handful of coins on the desk, grabbed a key, and made a beeline for the room in the back, a single guest room with a futon and a small dresser in the corner. The room was very minimalist but managed to come across as relievingly uncluttered rather than uninvitingly bare. Shaking with exhaustion with sleep so imminent, Tobirama locked and trapped the window and door, laid down seals for silence so no one could hear anything in the room from the outside, and yet more seals for concealment to hide his chakra signature. Just because he was tired didn’t mean he would be careless.

He collapsed with relief upon the futon after securing the room. “I don’t care if you might be a boroboroton. I’ve never been so glad to see a bed.” he muttered into the pillow before passing out.

* * *

 It was dark in the room when Tobirama awoke, startled out of a deep slumber by something he couldn’t immediately identify. He kept his eyes closed and took careful, deep breaths, flexing the hand under his pillow to ensure he still had a good grip on the kunai.

He couldn’t sense anyone else in the building other than himself and the Innkeeper and his seals felt undisturbed. Cautiously, Tobirama lifted his head and glanced around the room, seeing that his traps were also undisturbed he disrupted his chakra.

No change.

All was still and quiet.

He huffed, irritated, curling back up under the blankets. While it would hardly be the first time he’d woken from a nightmare he couldn’t remember having it seemed more likely to be his own paranoia this time, an effect of too little rest and too much hypervigilance.

Then a breeze brushed his hair and a quick vibration ran under him and he was up in a flash and slashing his kunai and—

— And there was no one there but the bed was still vibrating so what—

He looked down and stiffened.

Years from now, if asked to describe the series of events that occurred, the explanation would probably be just as jumbled as when it actually happened. It was so surreal and overwhelming at the time. It was like being caught in an avalanche without any prior warning, dropped in the middle of a forest fire after several dry years, or an enemy ambush where you were tired and outnumbered and everything was just movement. There wasn’t any time for thinking, just reacting.

Tobirama looked down into five red eyes arranged in a five petal pattern in a spectral face emerging from the top end of his futon, equally spectral arms that gangled inhumanly were wrapped around him.

He didn’t think. He just stabbed.

The kunai sank between the eyes with a goopy _shlok_ and stuck fast. The gangly spectral arms tightened around him and yanked him down, the futon rolling up at the sides like a carnivorous flower closing its petals around its prey with Tobirama caught in the middle as the unfortunate fly. He kicked out, hard, but the boroboroton’s body had too much give, somehow fabric and ectoplasm at the same time, all he succeeded in was getting covered in slime. Still, he kicked and pushed and thrashed in the ever shrinking space, yanking at the arms still wrapped around him tightly, lungs burning.

It was getting increasingly harder to breathe. With the airflow cut off, coupled with his exertions and the pooling slime, he was rapidly running out of air.

Just as black spots were swimming in his vision, and he was deliriously contemplating a fuuton jutsu and hang the fact that he had just as good a chance of shredding himself as he would escaping, the whole world plunged into chakra-less void. All the bright little lights that signified life and movement and people disappeared under a vast, dark ocean that stole the breath from his lungs and the strength from his limbs.

Tobirama choked on his fear and wasn’t ashamed to admit it, he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel, _oh Sage, he couldn’t feel anything— ! couldn’t breathe— !_

Then the Boroboroton opened all at once and deposited a slimy, gasping boy on a mountainside.

Tobirama hauled himself off the futon as quickly as possible, still spluttering for fresh air through a face full of ectoplasm. He slipped on the rocks and fell, bashing his chin. Angrily he reached for his chakra only to startle at how low it was, barely a quarter and strangely elusive to grasp, no wonder he felt so weak!

“And what,” an annoyed voice suddenly interjected from above, “is a baby tsukumogami and a drenched kitten doing on my doorstep, hm?”

Tobirama twisted around and stared in astonishment.

 


	2. You should have thought of that before you got eaten

_"And what,” an annoyed voice suddenly interjected from above, “is a baby tsukumogami and a drenched kitten doing on my doorstep, hm?”_

_Tobirama twisted around and stared in astonishment._

* * *

 Standing there was unmistakably a yamabushi, a mountain priest, clad in yellow haori and hakama gathered at the wrists and ankles, his dark hair was pulled into a high tail under a straw hat and his equally dark eyes were impressively judgemental. He held a walking stick in his right hand and his left rested on the hilt of a sword.

It was maybe not the smartest thing when “Kindling bonds of friendship, what’s it look like?” tumbled out of Tobirama’s mouth before he could think about it.

The boroboroton curled upwards with a hopeful expression, all five red eyes wide with a delight that was obvious even on its inhuman face.

“Oh boy,” the yamabushi took his hand off his sword and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I know you meant that sarcastically but, uh, here’s the thing, kitten. Tsukumogami? Don’t understand sarcasm. You just made a friend for life. Congratulations. Try not to fuck it up.”

“What— “

“On second thought,” the yamabushi said, ignoring the question entirely, dark eyes narrowed with annoyance, “you clearly have no idea what’s going on here,” he pointed at Tobirama who bristled with affront, “and _you_ have been a very naughty boy,” he pointed at the futon that had drawn itself up to stand and was now trying to make itself seem very small. It had limited success.

 _Clearly, this is just not my month_ , Tobirama thought, utterly vexed at this latest turn of events.

“And I suppose you’re going to offer an explanation out of the goodness of your heart?” Tobirama asked, backing up to keep both the boroboroton and the mountain priest where he can see them. He crossed his arms, nose wrinkling when it made a noisy _squelch._

“Um, no. I’ll offer you a wash up out of the goodness of my heart. You’re kind of a mess, kitten.” the yamabushi looked him up and down, expression morphing into disgust, “You’re going to want to wash that off sooner rather than later. Before it finishes dissolving your chakra.”

“What.” Tobirama shifted his glare to the boroboroton who twiddled its fingers and wouldn’t look at him. _Dissolving his chakra?_

“Ugh, just come with me.”

* * *

“What do you mean I was eaten.” Tobirama deadpanned. The strange priest had lead him to a temple a little further up the mountain where, thank his blessings, the residential areas in the back included a bathroom with hot running water. They sat on a porch surrounding a courtyard where Tobirama’s clothes were drying in the sun, the priest having both washed them while Tobirama was cleaning up and provided a long tunic for him to wear in the meantime. The boroboroton was nowhere to be seen, Tobirama couldn’t help but be nervous about that.

“Means what it means, kitten.” the priest blew on his tea, “You slept on a boroboroton and it ate you. Kinda like a starfish, you know, where they grab hold of prey and soak it in digestive juices until it dissolves. Only in this case his digestive juices numbed your coils so you wouldn’t struggle when he dissolved and ate your chakra.”

Tobirama set his cup down.

“And then,” the priest continued, seemly oblivious to the rising green tint on the teenagers face, “he panicked because he thought you were cute and cuddly and didn’t actually want to kill you, so he teleported the both of you to the Makai, yes, the actual real demon realm, kitten, and brought you to me thinking I might fix his mess.”

“...Stop calling me kitten.” Tobirama said at last, “My name’s Tobirama.”

The priest blinked, “Mine’s Otsuno. But back to the point.” He set his cup down and leaned forward, expression deadly serious. “Understand, kitten, there will be no fixing this mess. You are Kamikakushi now. Do you know what that means?”

Tobirama hesitated. Kamikakushi meant ‘hidden by Kami’, it was a common term for people, usually children, who’d inexplicably disappeared. Sometimes, they’d turn up again in equally mysterious circumstances, but the general understanding was that they’d be gone forever. Most of the time, people who disappeared were actually killed, or had run away, or been kidnapped for one reason or another. Nowadays, mysterious disappearances were attributed to shinobi activity, since lots of civilians considered them half spirit, or demons, anyway.

Finally, he said, reluctantly, “I don’t think I understand it the way you mean.”

Otsuno nodded thoughtfully, expression shading into something sadder. “Alright. Let me start over. I am Head Priest Otsuno of the Mount Rishiri Temple in the Makai. Formerly Head Priest of the Mount Rishiri Temple in the Ningenkai. That’s the human realm.” he clarified. “And you are?”

Tobirama paused, assessing, “I am Tobirama,” he said at last, “youngest heir of the Senju Clan of the Land of Fire in the Ningenkai. This entire temple was transported here? It can’t have been recent.”

Otsuno went still when he mentioned his clan, “That confident you’d have heard about it, huh.”

“There are Fire country motifs painted on the shoji.” Tobirama gave him a dry look. “Daffodils are still traditional in case you were wondering.”

Otsuno snorted, “I think I could like you, kitten.” He looked down into his tea and sighed. “Kamikakushi means a being of this dimension had an irreversible effect on a human, in this case you, and tied their fate to the Makai forever.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what you mean by that,” Tobirama pointed out, frustration leaking through.

“Okay, let me put it this way.” Now the priest looked annoyed. “Eating you the way he did, that youkai reached right into your chakra coils and left scars behind. You’re marked for life. Every youkai in your vicinity is going to sniff you out as spirit-touched _and they won’t leave you alone._ This could have lethal consequences for you, and everyone around you. I’m not finished,” he said when Tobirama went to ask a question. “Youkai can’t be touched by human chakra. They eat that stuff. You need natural chakra to make it stick. You cannot learn to use natural chakra, except from certain summons; that you probably won’t meet their criterion for now, if you ever did, certain temples; which will require a literal lifetime’s worth of training, or,” his voice lowered angrily, heavily laced with sardony, “certain powerful youkai who most certainly won’t do it for free and will just tie you ever tighter to this realm. So, to get out, you have to go deeper. Do you understand now?”

Tobirama stared, aghast and pale. Heart beating louder and louder with every word, blood pounding in his temples, it felt like his skin was crawling with the intensity of his horror.

Otsuno nodded grimly, “Now you understand.”

“Is that,” he forced his tone to be even, “is that what happened to you? Is that why this temple is here?”

Otsuno blinked, taken aback. “No,” he said slowly, “I was already a full Sage when I made the decision to move the temple here, and I did that because it was in danger of being destroyed. I am not Kamikakushi. It was my own choice to be here.”

He took a deep breath, then another. “Can you teach me?”

“Can _I_ teach you?” Otsuno looked vaguely amused, like he knew full well where Tobirama was going with this but was going to make him say it out loud anyway.

Tobirama wrestled down his temper, now was not the time for an outburst. “You said you were a trained Sage.” Otsuno nodded. “You said I couldn’t learn to use natural chakra from the usual sources without a lot of strings involved.” Another nod. “Can you teach me instead?”

“I’ll have strings of my own.” Otsuno raised a brow, still looking amused. “They might be better or worse than the usual prices asked.”

“I’ll take that chance.” Tobirama said firmly. “Besides, you already like me.”

“Oh, I do, do I?”

“Yes.”

Otsuno’s other brow rose, his dark eyes glittering with poorly concealed mirth. “Okay then.”

“Okay?” _That easy?_

“Okay.” Otsuno agreed. “First lesson, first string, learn to make nice with your new tsukumogami friend.” He nodded to something behind Tobirama.

Tobirama jerked around to find the boroboroton peeking out from behind the shoji, eyes apologetic and hands still twisting nervously. He turned back around to glare at the priest.

Otsuno grinned at him, eyes alight with challenge. “Oh, and you have to call me Shishou now, kitten. It’s the rules. Make sure you give him a good name.” He nodded at the boroboroton. “He doesn’t have one yet.”

Tobirama deeply, deeply regrets not sleeping in a tree when he had the chance.

“Can I go home now?”

 


	3. See, this is why no one likes you.

_Tobirama deeply, deeply regrets not sleeping in a tree when he had the chance._

_“Can I go home now?”_

* * *

 It was three days before Tobirama was allowed to leave the Makai.

Three of the most aggravating days of his entire life. And he once spent several months dealing with a sulking, self-righteous Hashirama after catching him making friends with an Uchiha. Tobirama privately refers to the entire thing as the ‘River Incident’ in the hopes that polite understatement will somehow make it seem less heinous than it really was. The sulking that is, not the clandestine friendship. He is having limited success.

During those three days Otsuno-shishou had gotten him started on the basics of meditation and some very interesting chakra exercises. As it turned out, accessing sage chakra was both simpler and harder than Tobirama had ever imagined. The benefits of having a teacher, he supposed. He’d seen Hashirama grapple with it so often he sometimes forgot that his brother was largely self-taught out of necessity, and that his techniques were entirely based around the Mokuton and little else.

In between teaching he was a complete smirking bastard and required him to do various chores around the temple complex and make nice with the tsukumogami that _ate him._ The chores he could handle. Almost expected them, really. He's not a freeloader after all, and helping out in exchange for lessons is only fair. But the boroboroton was… another matter entirely.

One does not just get over being eaten, after all. That’s kind of a big deal.

* * *

 Tobirama tensed, gripping the broom tightly enough to creak, when the boroboroton peeked his head out around the side of the temple before attempting to stealthily hide behind one the dragon statues dotted around the temple. It was...not very inconspicuous.

“You know,” Otsuno drawled from where he was seated, watching Tobirama sweep the front steps, “forgiveness isn’t actually about forgiving people.”

“Wow,” Tobirama deadpanned, deliberately not looking at the priest, “I had no idea.”

“It’s true.” Otsuno nodded, just as deliberately ignoring the teenagers sarcasm, “It’s not even about letting it go, really. It’s more a statement of defiance.”

The broom slowed. “That’s not an angle I’ve heard before.” Tobirama said at last.

Otsuno hummed thoughtfully, “It’s not about second chances, either. You can forgive someone and still cut them completely from your life.”

“Isn’t that counterproductive to what you’re asking?” Tobirama muttered, sweeping with resentfully precise strokes.

“Forgiveness is not letting go what someone did, it’s letting go of its hold _over you_.” The broom stopped. “When you hate someone, when you hold a grudge, you end up spending _so much_ time and energy on it. You obsess over it. You devote hours at a time thinking about it every day. You rearrange your habits, your schedules, your ambitions, your very life around it. You allow them to influence you, and it tears you up inside.”

A rustle of cloth, then soft footsteps. A sun darkened hand entered his vision to take the broom from him. Tobirama looked up into Otsuno’s dark eyes.

“Forgiveness,” he said, “is looking someone in the eye and saying fuck you. Fuck you, you hurt me, you might still hurt me, but I won’t allow you a single inch. You will have no influence over me that I don’t allow. And I allow you _nothing_.” He smiled, a terrible smile, and turned away, beginning to sweep the path. “It just seems to me,” he continued, “that letting what someone did to you dictate the rest of your life, is a lot like letting them win.”

“I thought—” Tobirama forced himself to take an even breath, “I thought you said he didn’t mean to; that he was just a baby.”

“‘Didn’t mean to’ doesn’t change the fact that he did it at all. Nor does it negate the consequences of doing it.”

They were both quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

“I think,” Tobirama said, gazing out at where the boroboroton was playing peek-a-boo by itself, “that I need to have a conversation.”

Otsuno smiled.

* * *

 “Shishou said you didn’t have a name of your own.” Tobirama said. “And I needed to give you one.” The boroboroton ducked his spectral head into his mattress like a bashful turtle, spectral hands fluttering like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. It was slightly endearing, even if his previous behavior was emphatically not. “Is that… acceptable? To you?”

The boroboroton’s head popped out again, nodding emphatically. Tobirama was once again struck by how— strange he looked. He had a spoon shaped head with five bright-red eyes in the middle like a malevolent sakura blossom, and no discernible nose or mouth.

“Do you,” he paused, watching the boroboroton attempt to inch closer, “do you have a preference?

The boroboroton’s eyes slitted, an inscrutable expression. He extended one gangly hand towards him expectantly, fingers curling spasmodically. Tobirama looked at that hand, back up at that spectral face, and hesitantly reached out.

The boroboroton lead him to the courtyard in the rear of the temple. The clothes line had been taken down, leaving the center dominated by a sizable peony bush bursting with pink flowers. The boroboroton ghosted gentle fingers over the petals, eyes slitting again in what was probably an expression of happiness, if Tobirama was reading his body language right.

“You like peonies?” he asked. The boroboroton nodded, grabbing Tobirama’s hands, ignoring his tensing, and pulling them to touch the flowers too. They were very soft.

“Guess I’ll call you Botan, then.” He said, watching the boroboroton nuzzle the flowers.

Botan slit his eyes in another smile.

* * *

 “What do you mean he’s coming with.” Tobirama asked, expression completely flat.

The priest crossed his arms, giving him an equally unimpressed expression back. “Did I stutter? He has to go with _anyway_ , what with him having dimension hopping abilities, and you not having dimension hopping abilities.” He jabbed a finger at the teenagers face, only to hastily retract it when Tobirama bared his teeth “Someone has to ferry your scrawny ass around and unlike me, your Botan can pass unnoticed in a shinobi compound.”

“Botan _eats human chakra!_ ” he hissed, furious and incredulous. He might have taken steps to put _being eaten_ behind him but that didn’t mean he was ever going to forget. “And he’s not mine!”

Botan wilted, hands clutching and eyes suspiciously bright.

Tobirama looked away, feeling something uncomfortably like guilt. Which was just ridiculous, he was only speaking the truth!

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t own you. You’re your own person.” He muttered.

Botan bobbed up, looking cheery again. He grasped Tobirama’s hand in both of his own gangly ones and nuzzled it as gently as he did peonies.

Tobirama looked away again, uncomfortable for different reasons now.

Otsuno sighed, as if _Tobirama_ was the one being difficult. “Look, kitten, I get you’re worried. I get it. But you’ve only just begun training. If a youkai ambushed you now, you’d be helpless. Your Botan might be a baby still but he’s big, and he’s strong. As the one that marked you he has foremost claim. Smaller youkai will stay away just because he’s in the area, bigger youkai might be polite enough to ignore you if they sense him nearby. He’ll be protecting you, and your clansmen, with his presence.”

“And if he gets hungry?” Tobirama demanded.

“He doesn’t actually need to eat to live. It’s just his diet of choice when he wants to.” Otsuno explained, not at all helpfully.

Tobirama reminded himself that murder, while satisfying, tended to put a damper on cordial relations.

“I can’t smuggle something as large as a mattress into a _shinobi compound_ if I can’t put it in a storage seal,” Tobirama gritted, “and I really, really can’t with Botan.”

“No need to!” Otsuno said, in that bright, bastard way of his. “Botan could find you on the other side of the continent if he had to. He’ll just drop you off where he picked you up, wait for you to get back home, then teleport straight into your room. Isn’t that much easier?”

 _Murder is not the answer,_ Tobirama firmly reminded himself, crossing his arms, _even when you really want it to be._

Botan just moved to nuzzle his cheek.


	4. Having nice things is a privilege, good luck getting it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! A new chapter in just two days!

_Murder is not the answer, Tobirama firmly reminded himself, crossing his arms, even when you really want it to be._

_Botan just moved to nuzzle his cheek._

* * *

Living with Botan was every bit as awkward as he’d thought it’d be. At least at first. For one, he’d taken exception to Tobirama’s current bed and after that, well, it was Botan or the floor. And the floor was super uncomfortable after the first two weeks. It might, possibly, also have something to do with Botan’s watery pouting, which was swiftly achieving Hashirama levels of _makeitgoaway!_

For another, getting accustomed to sleeping on Botan can only be called an experience. A highly irregular experience at that. Botan like to cuddle him close and pet his hair while he was sleeping, which made actually falling asleep very hard, especially when he was still stubbornly sleeping on the floor only to wake up on the boroboroton in the morning. Botan also had no compunctions about lulling Tobirama to sleep with gentle purring despite his insomnia inducing paranoia and distinct dislike of being touched, so he ended up sleeping on the boroboroton no matter what he did.

Might as well pick his battles.

Like, displaying sudden territorial aggression to anyone who previously was allowed in his room. That was a battle he was winning by dint of being thirteen, and thus _that age,_ and it was written off as just him experiencing a sudden need to set boundaries brought on by puberty. Or they figured it was a symptom of a war-ridden shinobi lifestyle. One of the two.

So far, only Hashirama had trouble adjusting. Unfortunately, said trouble came in the form of assuming there were other, more embarrassing, reasons Tobirama might suddenly want even more privacy. Tobirama really could have gone the rest of his life without his father suddenly realizing what age his youngest was and awkwardly inquiring if they needed to have a talk.

No. Just no.

Nevertheless, he succeeded in making his room a safe place for his new roommate. Botan might be able to pretend to be nothing more than an ordinary futon but Tobirama was leaving nothing to chance. No amount of dubiousness about their arrangement, or familial embarrassment, was going to get in the way of ensuring Botan had a safe space, if only out of sheer practicality.

It was two months before he was required to go further from the Senju compound than border patrols. Two months to get the hang of meditation and perfect his chakra exercises until they were effortless. During that time he was extremely careful about visiting the Rishiri Temple, and only on nights when he didn’t have patrol.

* * *

“Okay! Now that you’re not terrible at basic meditation, let’s move on to interesting meditation.” Otsuno clapped brightly, “Luckily for you I won’t make you spend ten years on the basics. Aren’t you just so glad? Say, ‘thank you shishou!’”

Tobirama’s flat stare said it all.

“Good enough, I guess.” Otsuno muttered before brightening again. “Alright! I’m sure you’re wondering what the purpose of all this is.” He waved at the vaguely shrine-like contraption, a little stone carving of four pillars and a pointed, curved roof, just big enough for someone of, say, Otsuno’s size, to sit criss-cross inside. The whole thing was absolutely plastered in seals and rope charms, to the point you could hardly see the stone.

Tobirama examined it curiously, marvelling quietly at the sheer complexity of the seals, many of which he found to be beyond his current understanding. There, a sigil for banishment on all the inward sides of the pillars, a running configuration to regulate a flow of something around the base, and, he peered at the underside of the roof, something to draw out? The rest was lost on him, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

He sat back on his heels, considering the shrine, “Oh, it prevents chakra buildup. Natural chakra buildup?” He looked up to find Otsuno smiling. “It’s a failsafe.”

“Very good, looks like I don’t have to start from scratch with you.” And there went any good will Tobirama might have amassed for him since the last time he opened his mouth. How funny. “Part of the danger of drawing natural chakra into yourself is fucking up your inner balance. When your own chakra exceeds what you’ve gathered, you get mutations. When the chakra you’ve gathered exceeds your own, you calcify. This,” he gestured to the shrine, “expels any natural chakra inside it that exceeds a certain limit.”

 _Huh,_ Tobirama thought, _a useful training tool._ He settled himself inside the shrine, marvelling again at the detail of the seals.

“Now, I’ve set the limit fairly low. We’re just trying to get you accustomed to drawing in natural chakra, and controlling that amount consciously, we can worry about finding your balance later.”

“And the mutations?”

“You’re learning through purely human teachings. No intervention by otherworldly beings, Summons or otherwise. The most you’ll get is tattoos, maybe.”

Tobirama eyed the priest dubiously, he wasn’t looking forward to finding out what _maybe_ entailed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Otsuno sighed at him, “you’re so hung up on details kitten. Anyway!” he hastily changed the subject at Tobirama flat look, “the trick to drawing in natural chakra is stillness. Utter stillness.”

“Stillness.” Tobirama repeated. “Right.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Otsuno said solemnly. “You need complete stillness for the life force of the world to recognize you as an appropriate vessel. The instant you move, the flow shuts off.”

Tobirama nodded thoughtfully.

“This kind of meditation is different from focused meditation.” Otsuno continued. “Focused meditation helps you think, helps you regulate. It’s helpful, but too active, too conscious.” The priest sat down on the grass, now closer to eye level. “Close your eyes, Tobirama. Listen to my voice.”

Tobirama closed his eyes, immediately becoming more aware of the feel of stone under him, the light breeze that carried the faint scent of peonies, the sound and feel of his own breathing. He parsed out the distractions with ease, used to filtering out what he didn’t need from long practice with being sensor.

“Try not to control your breathing, just let it be.” Otsuno said, voice soft, “In, out. Don’t visualize anything. Don’t focus on any thought in particular. Your thoughts are rivers, you are the rock they flow around.”

 _Easier said than done,_ Tobirama thought before immediately pushing it away. He let the priest’s words relax him, tried to concentrate solely on his breathing. Before long he realized he’d instinctively started regulating it and moved to concentrate on keeping himself relaxed instead.

“Let your breathing slow. Let your heart slow. Feel your breathing as just a faint pressure in your nose. Let your body fall away. Let the world fall away. All that matters is you, and your breathing.”

Eventually, Tobirama wasn’t sure when, the world did begin to slow. Falling away bit by bit. Only this time he retreated inwards instead of outwards through his chakra sense. He was so still he couldn’t feel his own body anymore.

It felt like floating. Like floating in a dark void where sound and sight and touch were but distant stars. Where chakra was but a distant warmth, intangible but ever present. He was alone in himself, his thoughts like birds, there and interesting, yet flying away the instant he moved too close. Even those began to move further out of reach. He sank deeper, edging into something like unawareness, feeling brightness at the corner of his vision in a place without sight—

The next thing he knew Otsuno was shaking him back to awareness.

“What—” Strangely, his ears were ringing and he couldn’t seem to move right, body sluggish and heavy.

“You almost fell asleep.” Otsuno said. “And it’s almost time for you to go home.”

Tobirama felt a hot rush of embarrassment. Meditation hadn’t put him to sleep since he was six!

Otsuno must have noticed something was off, he smiled and patted Tobirama’s hair before he could bat him away. “Don’t feel too bad. At some point the line between deep meditation and sleep disappears. The only difference is you can consciously pull yourself out of meditation.” He pulled the teenager to his feet and helped him wobble his way back to the temple.

“Why do I feel so woozy?” Tobirama slurred, letting Botan cuddle him close.

“Because you did it, kitten.” Otsuno said.

 _Did it? Did what—_ “I did it?” He breathed, excitement washing away some of the bone-weary exhaustion.

“Mm, just for a moment. But you managed to pull on the world and the world let you.”

“I did it,” Tobirama said again, too quiet to hear. Botan picked his limp body up, cradling him against his soft shoulder, purring gently. A hand carded through his hair. He wrinkled his nose, that didn’t feel like Botan’s hand—

“Sleep, kitten, Sage chakra is exhausting stuff.”

And Tobirama was out.


	5. I know kittens like string, but try to resist a little harder

_“Sleep, kitten, Sage chakra is exhausting stuff.”_

_And Tobirama was out._

* * *

The thing is, Tobirama didn't get sent on nearly as many missions outside of Senju territory as his kinsman did. Being a Sensor of considerable strength, he was integral to home security, and detecting ambushes, and formulating reaction strategies, so he was rarely allowed too far. It was… frustrating, in a word. He understood the reasoning but that didn’t make it easier to cope with deaths in the field that he was certain he could have prevented if he’d _just been there._

That being said, actually going on missions was a much needed breath of fresh air, physically and mentally. For a territory large enough to comfortably house a large clan, it could get very claustrophobic if you couldn’t leave it. As a result he tended to pick up slack wherever he could find it just to relieve the skin crawling restlessness; if someone needed to mind the children, attend to the Elders, help Father with his paperwork, run messages? Consider him present and accounted for.

Tobirama was self aware enough to know that part of the reason he kept going back to the Makai was because it was someplace _new_ for him to go, and he was _so tired_ of being trapped in place.

Which is why when he was actually given a mission they tended to be long ones, like escorts and couriers, if only because no one wanted to deal with a truly bored shinobi. Bored shinobi were a health hazard. They also tended to be solo’s more often that not because the whole point was that he was heartily sick of dealing with other people and he’d made sure the feeling was _entirely_ mutual.

He relished the quiet, and the freedom of only having to watch his own back for a change.

His latest mission was to travel to Yumeyo, the Daimyo’s capital city, and present a series of documents to the Daimyo’s Minister of Shinobi Affairs with the annual reaffirmation of the Senju Clan’s obeisance to the Fire Daimyo’s authority, etc, etc. The job having fallen to him since Father was too busy, and Hashirama had— an authority problem, to put it diplomatically. This was the same excuse they’d given him last year and he’d quickly resigned to the annual trip being his job from now on. Oh, well. Whatever got him out of the compound.

Privately, Tobirama thought his Father was just trying to snub the Minister, and through him the Daimyo, by sending his second son — and a _child_ no less — to do the job now that the Daimyo had delegated the task rather than continue to receive them in person. Tobirama was of the opinion they should just be grateful that the Daimyo’s had abolished the formal kowtowing ceremonies that used to be required of Clan Heads and their primary heirs and leave it at that. Before his death, Great-Uncle Akai would still go on at length about the humiliation of it all.

Last year, he’d found the trip enjoyable. This year, he found himself beset on all sides by annoyances once he left Botan’s protective range.

It started small, with little spirits that clustered in his peripherals, peering at him curiously through the leaves and from under rocks.

The problem didn’t start until the oni arrived.

Actually, let him rephrase that. The _problem_ was that unless he was accessing Sage chakra he couldn’t sense youkai, they just felt like plants or animals. They were also damnably sneaky.

The blow to his shin caught him just as he was touching down on a branch and tensing to leap off, taking his leg out from under him entirely. He cried out and tumbled forward, landing clumsily on the forest floor with another cry of pain as his leg jolted uncomfortably.

He threw himself away from his landing just as the branch dropped, rolling to his feet just in time to catch a glimpse of a giggling, knee-high, bark-colored being in a mossy kimono scuttling higher into the branches, a fist sized club slung across its back and a single horn rising from its scraggly hair.

A groaning creak was his only warning.

He threw himself into a headlong sprint, heart pounding, fast as he dared in the forest, fast as he could on his now throbbing leg. The sound of branches crashing behind him and those horrible high-pitched _giggles_ followed in his wake. Suddenly the ground was teeming with small oni running across his path, chucking rocks and sharpened sticks, trying to slow him down and trip him up. He narrowly avoided being caught by cleverly concealed potholes and trip wires, the forest floor turned into a deadly maze of crippling traps but still less treacherous than the trees.

A branch crashing in front of him brought Tobirama to a swearing halt and then the oni were on him with clubs and claws and _teeth._

Every oni he ripped off were seemingly replaced with two more, their claws catching and hooking in his armor as tenaciously as cats, teeth digging into exposed skin and gnawing relentlessly. He cried out in pain. They were _eating his chakra._ He collapsed under the weight of them, more and more dogpiling on top.

He braced his hands against the dirt, trying to push up, trying to pull his chakra inwards where they couldn’t touch it. They pulled at his chakra hard and he pulled back harder. Water bubbled up between his fingers, a flash understanding hit him like desperate hope. _Underground stream!_

He reached down, down, grasping for what he knew to be there and yanking it up as hard as he could.

Water burst out of the ground in a scouring blast, cold and sharp against his wounds, ripping the oni off and scattering them about in battered heaps. He didn’t stop, he didn’t dare stop, he scrambled to his feet, winding the water around him in a tight spiral, building up force faster and faster before releasing it in a deadly torrent of water blades.

He didn’t stay to examine the resulting carnage. He ran. 

* * *

The Dream Gates of Yumeyo were a welcome sight when he limped into view.

Tobirama was a deft hand with flesh wounds and bruises, but there was little he could do for his fractured shin other than bind it tight. He would just have to hope one of the apothecaries in the city were tolerant enough of shinobi to do business.

He grimaced at the sight of a certain annoying Uchiha already being processed by the gate guards.

He limped up to the Gates and handed his identification papers to a stony faced guard who snatched them brusquely.

“What’s the matter, Senju?” Izuna murmured while the guards were busy, “Couldn’t handle a three day trip without running into trouble?”

“At least I don’t look like I tripped through every bush between here and home.” Tobirama retorted just as quietly. Yumeyo was not friendly to shinobi. They couldn’t afford to be at each other’s throats here. Not even their fathers would dare.

Their papers were roughly shoved at them, “All seems to be in order.” The guard said grudgingly. “You’ll be escorted to your quarters.” He waved another pair of guards over.

Tobirama and Izuna exchanged glances, sharing a moment of perfect understanding in their suspicion. Being escorted was new, and not a welcome sign.

They were escorted towards the building formally known as the Shinobi Diplomat’s House, and informally known as That Wretched Place. It was… looking more run down than last year. It was a two story building that never housed more than eight guests at a time, with stately, now chipped, blue walls, and a sloping, pointed roof in faded blue-black. The tulip beds had been left to run wild, the cheery yellow now choked with scraggly weeds. The windows were dusty and cracked, and the front door hung crooked. Judging by the chakra signatures inside, the Hyuga and Akimichi representatives had already arrived and… had been left unattended? Sure enough, there were no servants that you might expect to find in a Diplomat’s House, not even a measly cook.

Izuna suddenly stumbled into one of the guards who immediately shoved him off, knocking him into Tobirama who stumbled to the left and fell into a tulip bed with a hiss when his weight landed on his fractured leg.

“Don’t touch me!” the guard spat, him and his partner quickly taking their leave, shooting one last poisonous glare over their shoulders.

“Yeah, good riddance,” Izuna spat on the sidewalk and pulled himself up, glancing down at Tobirama but not offering his hand.

Tobirama shot him an annoyed glare, “Since when were you so clumsy?” He retracted his hand from the tulip bed and quickly stuck it under his leg, rubbing out the pain into something bearable.

“I’m not clumsy!” Izuna insisted, “This sidewalk is just very uneven!”

Tobirama arched a very judgemental brow.

“Whatever, I’m still taller than you now.” Izuna muttered, crossing his arms, “Are you getting up anytime soon or what?”

“I don’t know,” Tobirama gave him a tight smile, more of a grimace, “Are you going to put that so called tallness to good use and _help me up?_ ”

Izuna did, in fact, put his new tallness to good use. They parted ways in the hallway leading to their respective rooms.

“Now,” Tobirama said, in the privacy of his quarters, “let’s talk about you.”

The prayer beads wrapped around his left wrist rattled.

 


	6. Trying to be polite and being wrong anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA, BET YOU THOUGHT YOU SAW THE LAST OF ME FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS.

" _Now,” Tobirama said, in the privacy of his quarters, “let’s talk about you.”_

_The prayer beads wrapped around his left wrist rattled._

* * *

Tobirama will graciously concede that Otsuno-shishou _had_ warned him about the persistence of youkai, that Botan was a deterrent, and a strong one at that. _He just hadn’t been prepared for the reality of it!_

Apparently this meant he couldn’t leave Botan’s area of influence without constantly tripping over more youkai. He was relying on his _bed_ for safety, how ridiculous was that?

Tobirama resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Obscuring his vision would do him no favors.

“I’m setting you on the bed now.” He told the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, it rattled a bit but loosened agreeably enough to pool on the bed like an odd snake. Technically, it was a wooden bead necklace with a small, flat, tasseled, wooden pendant depicting a flame motif, it separated opposite the pendant to form a makeshift tail and head with which it seemed to regard him curiously.

 _Okay, deep breaths,_ he thought himself, _this isn’t nearly as bad as the oni._ The memory of that encounter, still so fresh, made him shudder. _Start at the beginning, basics are everyone’s friend._

“Do you have a name?” He asked. The prayer beads seemed to consider that for a moment before raising their tail and wiggling it, like a very strange rattlesnake.

“That a no, then?”

They nodded their head.

Tobirama exhaled carefully, “Okay, do you want a name? I can’t just call you, hey you, all the time.”

A very enthusiastic nod.

“Alright,” he said, “I found you in the tulips so I’m calling you Churippu. Is that okay with you?”

Rather than a nod they began to dance across the sheet, wiggling and coiling about under Tobirama’s bemused gaze. “You really like it that much?”

In answer they extended their pendent, the flame motif having changed subtly.

“Oh,” he said, gently running a finger over the design, “it looks a bit like a tulip now, except kind of still like a flame. It looks very nice.” He told them sincerely. In response they coiled around the pendant until only the tassel was poking out and buried their head.

He shook his head but a smile twitched around the corners of his mouth despite himself, then he sat upright when a thought occurred to him. “Do you want stay here?” he asked them, “I mean, is this your home?”

A tail rattle to both questions.

“Alright then!” He scooped them up, pausing only when they wrapped around his left wrist again before limping on. There was a shrine just down the street and it ought to the be the perfect home for little Churippu.

* * *

 Somehow, Tobirama probably should have expected to get the door slammed in his face. He did not let that deter him and kept knocking.

A moment later, now dripping wet, he admits he probably should have let it deter him. He would have avoided the holy water to the face that way.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “You’re not the only shrine in the city.”

Which may have been true but it also wasn’t alone in its attitude towards shinobi.

The next three all barred their doors at the sight of him, another two tried the holy water trick with bonus exorcism chants, how funny, and a further four screeched about demons and called for the guards which necessitated a quick getaway. Not so funny.

By this time it was edging into evening and walking on his injured leg had become agony, he staggered into a quiet side street and all but collapsed against a little well; drawing his leg close. Gingerly pulling up his pant leg and unwinding the bandages, he hissed at the sight, the nasty bruise that had previously lurked under his skin had bloomed in full force in all its swollen glory. He thunked his head back against the well with an aggravated groan. And again for good measure.

“This was maybe not the best—

Tobirama turned to peer around the well, sensing an incoming presence at the door of the… oh, great, another shrine. After today, he was thoroughly sick of them.

After a minute an old man in humble robes tottered out, blinking in visible surprise at the shinobi child sprawled against his well. The old man fished a pair of glasses out his sleeve and peered through them, almost disbelievingly.

Tobirama sighed, “I know, I know, I’m leaving.” He tried to heave himself up only for his leg to buckle under, sending back down into the dirt with a sharp gasp. Churippu tightens around his wrist gently, either in warning or comfort.

“Here now!” The old man hurried over, “That looks painful, young man! What are you doing wandering about on it? Especially at this hour?” His wrinkled hands fluttered about Tobirama’s legs, like he wants to touch but is unsure of his welcome.

“I just aggravated it, is all.” Tobirama gasped, “I wasn’t expecting to be out all day. It was just supposed to be a quick trip, but I guess it got personal.” He attempted a reassuring expression, “I’ll be up soon.”

“Hmm, you better come inside,” The old man said, worriedly, not convinced by a teenager’s assessment on a good day. “You won’t being doing much walking on that. Come on now, up you go.” He levered the teenager to his feet, directing him to wash his face and hands in the water that had already been drawn up. He gently pulled him inside the shrine with a hurried, “I, Uten, welcome you to this dwelling,” and settled him in front of a statue of Kuraokami, the dragon god of rain.

“Here now! Let me see, let me see, I used to know a thing or two about bones!” Uten fluttered his hands over Tobirama’s leg again.

“You really don’t have to—

Uten’s hands lit up green.

“Oh.”

A surprisingly roguish grin crossed Uten’s wrinkled face, “Yes, oh. Can’t quite muster up the strength I used to, but this is easy enough.” He peered at Tobirama’s face, hard. “What were you doing wandering about on this leg when you should have been resting? Aren’t you young ones all fired up about what fools you aren’t?”

Tobirama suppressed a flush, lifting his chin, “I was trying to re-home a tsukumogami.” He said, absolutely certain he wouldn’t be believed, but hoping it would throw the old man off.

Uten went still, the green chakra puttering out. “Here now,” he said softly, “you don’t meet those every day.”

Sensing an opening, Churippu unwrapped from Tobirama’s arm and bounced into Uten’s lap, performing another silly dance. Uten laughed delightedly, cupping them in his hands. “An ichiren-bozu, how wonderful! And so friendly too.” He mused. “Someone must have loved you very much.” Churippu curled up in his hands, hiding their head. Uten cooed.

“Can you take them then?” Tobirama asked, “I mean, I don’t know anything about ichiren-bozu and you clearly do…” he trailed off uncertainly under Uten’s peering.

“Here now, let’s see, do you have a name, lovely?” Uten smiled when Churippu nodded and extended their pendant for him to see, “Oh, that’s lovely,” he told them, “A nice, pretty tulip for a nice, pretty girl, is it?” Churippu danced in affirmation.

“Did you name her?” Uten asked, still smiling at the dancing tsukumogami in his hands.

“Yes,” Tobirama said, “I couldn’t just keep calling— her? I couldn’t keep calling her, you.”

Uten hummed contemplatively, “You might want to get comfortable doing that with any new youkai you meet from now one. Naming them makes them yours.”

“What.”

“Well, the little ones.” Uten corrected himself, “The big ones usually come with their own names.”

“No, I mean— !” Tobirama ground his teeth in frustration. “You really can’t take her?”

Uten handed Churippu back, who gladly wrapped around his arm again, “‘Fraid not, young man. You name ‘em, you take care of ‘em. That’s the rules.”

With startling swiftness, Uten pulled him up and chivied him out the door with a cheerful, “And make sure you ask someone about the proper care of your Churippu, now! You’re too young and full of foolish ideas for me to do it!”

The door slammed behind him with finality. Evening had truly set in, leaving the streets mostly quiet in this part of the city.

“Great.” Tobirama facepalmed.


	7. Sometimes the people who drag you into messes also drag you out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief panic attack. As well as your regular reminder that youkai are actually terrifying.

  _The door slammed behind him with finality. Evening had truly set in, leaving the streets mostly quiet in this part of the city._

_“Great.” Tobirama facepalmed._

* * *

“The guards were pretty pissed you disappeared all day,” is how Izuna greeted him, then he frowned, “Weren’t you limping?”

Tobirama glared to prevent himself from rolling his eyes, “Weren’t you sulking?”

Izuna smiled, sweet as strychnine, “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to hear you from all the way down there.”

Tobirama halted in the doorway to his quarters, suddenly incensed beyond reason. He whipped around to glare furiously at Izuna, “Get over yourself. You have two inches, _at most_ , on me.”

Izuna’s smile widened, triumphant and so, so, annoying as ever. “That’s still two inches you don’t have.” He sing-songed, actually cheered now that he was getting under Tobirama’s skin.

“One day,” Tobirama hissed, “I’ll be taller than you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“How are you going to do that, huh? You can’t control what your genes express.” Izuna snorted, impertinent to the last.

“Watch me.”

 _You can’t be taller than me if you’re dead,_ he thought, but still had enough hold of himself to not say aloud. Before Izuna could open his stupid mouth again and seriously tempt Tobirama to murder, he ducked into his quarters and slammed the door shut.

He had a meeting to prepare for and sleep to catch up on.

* * *

It’s Churippu who wakes him in time, rattling her pendant against his temple in an urgent tempo.

He tries to speak but can only manage a weak slurred noise; staying awake is difficult, thinking is difficult. The room is spinning hard.

Churippu drew herself up and rammed against his temple.

He jerked, coming to enough to try to sit up, pushing weakly at the sheets with numb hands. He’d managed to sluggishly push himself up a few inches when something yanked on his leg, pulling him down the bed. That was sufficiently alarming to make it through the cotton smothering his thoughts and he jerked his leg back.

Whatever was on the other end yanked him off the bed in response. Tobirama hit the floor tangled in the sheet; too limp to land safely, knocking his head against the floor. Hands scrabbled at the floor, trying to drag his numb body away from the bed only to be yanked back again. He lashed out with a kick and hit seemingly nothing.

“ _Tasty, tasty. Slurp, slurp!_ ” A three fingered, clawed hand made of shadows latched onto his knee, spreading fresh numbness where it touched. “ _Little raindrop just for me, teehee!_ ” A single, bulbous eye gleamed in the shadows under the bed over a wide toothy maw, drool dripping down to pool on the floor.

Churippu rattled her tail like an angry snake, launching herself at the shadowy hand and wrapping around it, squeezing tight. The shadow youkai let go with a pained hiss.

Suddenly, clarity and sensation returned to Tobirama now that the youkais attention and numbing touch had been diverted. He wasted no time, grabbing Churippu and rolling away from the bed, going for his sword only for an inhumanly long arm to lash out and seize his ankle, sending him to all fours when his leg buckled with new numbness.

He grabbed his sword just as the arm yanked him close again. He spun with the pull, slashing at the arm and then staring in dismay as it passed right through, doing nothing at all. It took hardly any consideration to discard the sword since it was useless. Seeing as it worked last time, he ran through the sequence of signs for the water bullet jutsu.

The shadow youkai swallowed the water bullet whole.

_Shit! This is why no likes fighting Naras!_

“ _Teehee! Thirsty, thirsty! Slurp, slurp, slurp!_ ” It dragged him inexorably closer, tongue extending from its toothy maw.

Churippu wriggled furiously in his hand, snaking her head up his wrist to bury it under the skin in a way that was entirely spectral, and lighting his whole arm up with fiery agony in a way that was entirely physical.

Tobirama’s attention snapped to his arm, glaring at Churippu in betrayal, in too much pain to even scream, only wheeze.

And then Botan was there in a flash of yellow light, wasting no time in wrenching the shadow youkai off him and scooping him away from immediate danger. Churippu pulled out of his arm and wrapped around it tight, still rattling urgently.

Botan bore down on the shadow youkai with a growling fury, wrestling it out from under the bed. It was somehow bigger than the dimensions of the bed should allow, a huge slug-like body with a single bulbous eye and gangling arms.

Yet Botan overpowered it with ease, pinning its arms, lifting it from the ground and violently shaking it. An invisible seam split down his middle, revealing a toothy maw of his own, row upon row of spiraling sharp teeth surrounding a gullet that was terrifyingly deep in such a flat body. Botan stuffed the whole youkai down his throat and chewed. Loudly.

Tobirama backed up to the wall, panting, breathless with an emotion he refused to name, to even acknowledge.

And then Botan turned around and it was like the whole scene never happened, red eyes wide with concern and twiddling with his fingers again. Tobirama slumped against the wall, still panting, exhausted. It was over.

Botan shuffled over, reaching for him. Tobirama let himself be picked up and cradled in Botan’s lap, spectral fingers petting his hair.

He couldn’t seem to breath. The room was spinning again.

“I’m okay.” He gasped. “I’m okay.”

Botan cuddled him close and rubbed his back until he finally brought his breathing under control, purring quietly all the while.

That was— he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Botan’s softness. He could deal with being attacked in his sleep; he was a shinobi, it was a fact of life. But never, _never,_ had he been helpless in the face of an ambush. He always sensed them coming long before he could see them, could touch his attackers, could defend against them. Not— what happened just now.

Churippu rattled around his wrist, bouncing her pendant on his knuckles.

Tobirama glanced at her tiredly. It didn’t exactly take a genius to put two and two together. He got attacked in the woods and Botan didn’t show, he got attacked here and Botan didn’t show until Churippu injected what felt like fire in his coils. “Oh, sorry.” he murmured, “Thank you for calling him. That was very smart of you.”

The purring stuttered, Botan swiveling his spoon-shaped head to get a better look.

“Ah, introductions. Right.” He held her up so the boroboroton could see, “Botan, this is Churippu, she’s the one who called you. Churippu, this is Botan. He’s my friend.”

As seemed to be her habit, Churippu extended her pendant for Botan to see the fiery tulip design. Botan clapped with delight then twisted awkwardly to show his border seam where— Tobirama shook his head bemusedly— where a peony pattern had been stitched in delicate blue, so light it was tricky to spot on the white fabric. Churippu performed her happy dance in return.

 _Well, at least they were getting along,_ he thought. “Make nice because she’s coming home with us.”

Botan slit his eyes in his expression of happiness. Tobirama was once again struck by how lucky he was that Botan came, no matter that he probably wouldn’t have been attacked in the first place if he hadn’t met the boroboroton.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispered, “I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

In response, Botan just cuddled him closer and purred louder, like he could somehow wipe away the horror of the night with his affection if he just tried hard enough.

Tobirama snorted softly, “Stay with me?”

Botan rolled backwards and curled sideways, so Tobirama could lay down and still be shielded from the sight of the bed.

Despite the adrenaline induced weariness, sleep would not come for the rest of the night, just fitful dozing in the boroboroton’s embrace until the pale light of dawn crept through the windows and banished the nightmares once and for all. At least, until night fell again.

 


	8. How'd it go again, float like a butterfly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Very brief instance of ableist language. CW: Hyuga clan canon internal politics.

_Despite the adrenaline induced weariness, sleep would not come for the rest of the night, just fitful dozing in the boroboroton’s embrace until the pale light of dawn crept through the windows and banished the nightmares once and for all. At least, until night fell again._

* * *

Did Tobirama mention that he’d enjoyed the trip to Yumeyo last year? Yeah. That was a filthy lie brought on by the sheer relief of getting away from Hashirama’s sulking and faded by nostalgia. He just remembered he fucking hates dealing with the Minister of Shinobi Affairs, and he definitely did not get anywhere near enough sleep to properly deal with this pomposity.

Sasaki Nori was a greying, self-important coward whose insistence on absolute propriety was an astonishingly thin cover for his clear enjoyment of wielding power over others. Especially over shinobi.

Tobirama will say this for him; for a man who perpetually stunk of terror around shinobi he cared way too much about manners to show it. One could admire that kind of poker face if it wasn’t attached to a pompous moron.

“Now,” Sasaki began briskly, clearing his desk, “to business.”

The Hyuga representative; a young woman in formal robes with her hair pulled back in a warrior’s topknot under a headband, inclined her head in a show of politeness, smiling thinly. “Elders first.”

The Akimichi representative; an old bear of a man with wild grey hair still clad in his armor, snorted loudly, “As you say, pup.” Ignoring the displeasure of Sasaki and the Hyuga with all the selective notice of the comfortably aged, he reached into his kimono and produced a thin scroll bound in a red ribbon and capped at both ends with the Akimichi butterfly.

Sasaki examined the contents critically, an alarmed frown growing on his features the more he read. The scroll fell from his shaking hands and he looked up at the smirking Akimichi in horror. “This can’t be right. Akimichi-san have you considered the ramifications of this— this lunacy!”

“Forwards and backwards.” The Akimichi smiled wider, entirely self-satisfied, “We’ve no need for a Daimyo so entrenched in samurai agenda he forgets his duties to the ones who lifted his lineage.” He leaned forward, teeth bared. “Consider this our revolt!”

He sat up gracefully, smoothing his expression into something almost pleasant and inclined his head politely at the dumbstruck Minister and excused himself, only to pause at the door, “Oh, and Minister?” He said over his shoulder. “That’s Akimichi- _sama_ to you. Bureaucrat.” He left with a final ‘Hmph!’

Sasaki shook in his seat, gripping the edges of his desk with white knuckled hands. “H-he can’t do that! T-this is unprecedented!”

Tobirama forced himself to stay utterly still and stoic, the other two doing the same in the corners of his vision. This was… not anticipated. He’d known, of course, that the Daimyo’s recent restrictions on trade allowances had made things _difficult_ for the Akimichi, but perhaps he’d underestimated by how much. If the Akimichi were to lose their trade networks they’d have to cut off their vassal clans, the Nara and the Yamanaka, and they’d definitely lose their status as a Noble Clan.

Only clans that were self-sufficient and managed a source of wealth independent of mercenary work could count themselves as Noble, and it was a point of pride that the Noble Clans could support vassals. The Akimichi were merchants, the Hyuga owned hotsprings, the Uchiha were blacksmiths and glaziers, and the Senju had agriculture, together they sheltered most of the shinobi clans under their aegis and directed the delicate balance of feuds and obligations that kept the Land of Fire intact.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly an efficient system when _their own Daimyo was trying to oust them._

Finally, the Hyuga cleared her throat pointedly, “Perhaps there is business to attend to, still?” She withdrew a scroll from her sash that was bound in a light blue ribbon and capped with the Hyuga wisp. She thrust it into Sasaki’s hands when he didn’t respond promptly enough for her liking.

Sasaki grasped the scroll numbly, still trembling. He blinked at it for a second, like he’d almost forgotten what they were there for in the excitement of the Akimichi’s… announcement.

“Everyone hand over their scrolls,” he croaked, “and get out of my sight.”

 _Rude,_ Tobirama scowled inwardly, firmly keeping it off his face as he handed over a scroll bound with a green ribbon and capped with the Senju tree. Izuna withdrew a scroll bound in navy and capped with the Uchiha fan and practically threw it at Sasaki’s face.

“And our earlier inquiries about the raised tariff?” Izuna ground his teeth, “Have they been addressed?”

Sasaki quickly gathered his scrolls and hurried towards the door, “If the Uchiha are unable to support their mines perhaps they should consider selling!”

His paperweight smashed against the door.

“Nice going,” Tobirama said, unable to quite help himself, “I’m sure that was a very persuasive argument in your clan’s favor.”

“Shut up Senju!” Izuna snarled, his hand jerked towards the kunai in his long tunic before he restrained himself. “Don’t act like the Samurai Tithe isn’t draining your lands dry!”

Tobirama lifted his chin, prepared to deliver a scathing retort of his own when the Hyuga interrupted.

“So this is the best the Senju and the Uchiha could provide?” She smiled maliciously, “An unruly child and a cripple?”

“What did you say.” Tobirama demanded. _Izuna was— ?_

“Did you think I wouldn’t see?” She snorted, “The striations in your coils are quite— eye-catching. They must have been so painful.” Her tone became mock pitying. “Such a shame.”

 _Oh. She means me,_ Tobirama thought bewilderedly, except no, that wasn’t right, nothing had happened to his coils except—

“ _Eating you the way he did, that youkai reached right into your chakra coils and left scars behind. You’re marked for life.”_

Where was that ringing in his ears coming from? It was making it difficult to hear.

“Bold words from a caged bird,” Izuna suddenly interjected, gazing at them suspiciously, “Did the freedom go to your head?”

The Hyuga’s chilly demeanor cracked in favor of incandescent rage. Her hands lit up with pale light and Tobirama grabbed Izuna’s elbow and shunshined them away.

Izuna jerked out of his grip the instant they halted, “Don’t do that again! I don’t need your protection, Senju!”

“I don’t need yours either!” Tobirama snapped. “I guess we don’t always get what we want!”

At this point he was just so frustrated he just… turned around and left. He needed to be away from irritants like Izuna and he needed it now.

* * *

Since it was only noon he went back to his quarters to pick up Churippu and went in search of the Shrine he’d visited yesterday, he needed answers and this time he wouldn’t take being chivied away so passively. Since he neglected to change out of his robes there was less outright hostility aimed in his direction now that he didn’t obviously look like a shinobi.

Eventually he found the quiet side street he was looking for only to halt in shock.

The shrine was a burnt out wreck of scorched tumbled stones and ashen remnants of wooden posts, the dragon statue long gone. The little well he’d rested against just last night was scorched full of cracks and bone dry. The buildings on either side and around were also burnt ruins, though some effort had been made to clear out their insides.

It was also clearly years old instead of mere hours. There were no cinders glowing in the nooks and crannies where heat would have been trapped, and the ashes had long been washed away in the rain.

Tobirama backed away from the desolation, suddenly nervous about being anywhere near the awful site. He left the side street post haste and retreated to the nearest vendor where a middling age woman tried to entice passersby with paper umbrellas.

“Ma’am? What happened to that shrine down there?” He gestured to the entrance of the side street next to them. Even the noonday shadows seemed longer and darker than they should be on that street. A shiver tried to work its way up his spine.

She pursed her lips, “That old thing? Burnt down a couple years ago. It’s a crying shame no one’s cleaned it up yet; it’s ugly as sin.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, absently taking note of her paper fan display, the bright painted patterns catching his eye.

“Are you buying anything?” She demanded. “I’m not exactly here to entertain tourists, you know.”

Tobirama wordlessly pointed to a fan with painted daffodils. Maybe Otsuno would like it.

He really needed to talk to him.


	9. And the rain came falling down, down, down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! As always, thanks to puzzle_shipper for keeping me going when I get stuck.

_Tobirama wordlessly pointed to a fan with painted daffodils. Maybe Otsuno would like it._

_He really needed to talk to him._

* * *

Tobirama didn’t wait until he got home to talk to Otsuno-shishou. He didn’t dare. He could cut the journey back home to mere minutes instead of days by making a stop at Otsuno’s temple anyway.

And with the blatant misconception the Hyuga was spreading to the Uchiha in a place where walls undoubtedly had ears whether he could sense them or not, he would prefer not to step out the gates into an ambush just because they thought he was easy pickings. No, better to disappear mysteriously. From all his enemies.

Botan was all too happy to oblige. He seemed to like it best when Tobirama was at the temple.

The temple was as it always was, gated by dragon statues and half of its yard overtaken by the peonies that grew wild here, a fey place long lost to time and spirits with its equally capricious caretaker. Otsuno was in his customary afternoon place, seated on the front steps with a long pipe and a cask of dandelion wine, peach scented smoke curling around his head in warm, lazy spirals. Ostuno was a wild, fey thing himself more often than not, for all his professed humanity.

He relaxed, almost involuntarily, the instant he crossed the boundary. Here at least, he was guaranteed absolute safety.

“Kitten,” Otsuno greeted him, pouring another shot from his cask, “Thought you’d be half a week more before I saw you again.”

Quietly, Tobirama sat next to the priest, watching Botan inspect the peony bushes with obvious glee.

“Shishou, I need advice.” He eventually said.

Otsuno paused, cup halfway to his mouth, “On a scale of one to fucked, how much alcohol am I going to need for this conversation.”

Tobirama shot him the _look_ that deserved.

Otsuno sighed, “Liver failure. Gotcha.” He knocked back his shot of wine and stuck the end of his pipe back in his mouth, puffing determinedly.

Tobirama folded his arms so he wouldn’t be tempted to smack the priest and was abruptly reminded of Churippu still patiently wrapped around his left wrist. He gently unwound her and cradled her in his hands, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile when she nuzzled her beaded head into his palm.

“Made a new friend I see.” Otsuno said, observing the ichiren-bozu out of the corner of his eye. “And an ichiren-bozu too, those are very strange youkai.” When Tobirama just hummed thoughtfully he continued. “Given the right circumstances they can retain their nature as a holy object and ward away spiritual evil from your person.”

“How do you define spiritual evil?” Tobirama asked, thinking back to the shadow youkai that tried to eat him and wondered if perhaps merely following the base instinct to eat to live that defined all living beings meant it didn’t register as being malicious.

“Anything trying to hurt you.”

“Even when they’re only trying to eat?”

Otsuno whipped around on the step, “Especially when they’re trying to eat you!” he exclaimed. “Kitten, youkai don’t need to feed on humans to live! Everything they need for sustenance is in the Makai itself, that’s why most hardly leave it. The only reason they’d feed on humans is for power, pleasure, or self defense! It is absolutely spiritual evil!” He said sharply. “The only reason I didn’t tear a strip out of your Botan for that stunt with you was because no one was truly at fault for that incident. You found out your bed was alive and tried to stab it; not the best reaction but entirely understandable. Botan got stabbed in the face and reacted accordingly.”

For an instant, Tobirama wondered how Otsuno even _knew_ that since he certainly didn’t tell him before shelving that thought for a more immediate issue.

“But Churippu— “

“Oh Sage, you named her already?” Otsuno threw his hands up and stalked down the stone path, pacing agitatedly. “I can’t believe— Okay, I can, but still! Do you even— no, no you don’t! Argh!”

Tobirama scowled, “Mind cluing me in on the other half of that conversation? I’m sure it’s just scintillating.”

Otsuno stopped pacing abruptly, slapping his hand to his face with a heartfelt groan. He dragged his hand down to glare at his student and opened his mouth to say something before seemingly changing his mind and went back to pacing, tugging aggravatedly at his ponytail. Then he whirled around and jabbed a finger at Tobirama’s face.

“Okay, start at the beginning!” He ordered. “And don’t be difficult about it, you contrary little shit!” He said when all Tobirama did was scowl obstinately at him.

With the air of one being entirely put upon, even though telling Otsuno was the whole point of coming here, Tobirama dutifully reported every supernatural encounter he’d had since leaving Botan’s protective range. By the end of his report Otsuno was pale and gaping incredulously.

“So, are ghosts real then?” He asked, since it didn’t seem like Otsuno was going to respond anytime soon. Honestly, this was kind of amusing, he didn’t often see his teacher so off balance.

“‘Are ghosts real’, he says.” Otsuno dropped his face into his hands, making a noise of abject despair. “I need a drink.” He slunk back to the steps and collapsed miserably, foregoing the cup entirely and just drinking straight from the cask.

“Let me get this straight,” he groaned, “you wandered into a Kuraokami Temple at _sunset,_ met an elder named _Uten_ , _what the fuck,_ only to discover it wasn’t there the next day? What kind of trouble magnet are you!”

“I don’t appreciate what you’re implying here.” Tobirama said stiffly, “You’re the one who said youkai would seek me out. How’s the temple worse than being attacked?”

Otsuno glared at him incredulously, “It was a _Kuraokami_ Temple attended by an elder named _Uten_ , which means—”

“Rainy weather, I know.” Tobirama rolled his eyes, “Lot’s of people change their name when they take holy orders. I figured his was just an homage to the rain god.”

“ _You can’t assume that!_ ” Otsuno said fiercely, “Think! It was _sunset_ , dusk and dawn are _liminal times_ , when it’s easiest to slip through cracks in the world. If you hadn’t left as quickly as you did you’d have been stuck there for gods know how long. Secondly, it was a temple, a god’s domain, a _dragon’s domain_. Dragons are youkai too! And you’re _kamikakushi!_ Greater youkai like dragons don’t eat kamikakushi, they _adopt them._ ”

“Oh,” Tobirama said. A quiet ringing was growing in his ears, along with the nervous realization of exactly how close he’d been to being trapped forever. He crossed his arms, Churippu slithering her way to his shoulder to nudge his cheek. He made strangled noise, “Did I just meet a god?”

“You met something alright.” Otsuno muttered into his cask. He poured a shot into his neglected cup and held it out for his student, “Here. For your nerves. I can see you freaking out.”

Tobirama sipped at it cautiously, not sure if something as bitter as dandelion counted as a soother. To his surprise it was sweet and floral, spiced with ginger and orange peel and cinnamon.

“Heh, thought it’d be nasty, didn’t you?” Otsuno grinned around his pipe, “It’s the sap that makes the green parts bitter, the flowers are sweet when you pick ‘em right.”

“Mm,” Tobirama sipped at his wine. “What do we now?”

Otsuno rubbed at his face, “Well, we can’t speed up your Sage training anymore than it already is. You can convert natural chakra without passing out now and it’s only been a couple months, that’s an impressive rate but it’s still not where you need to be to defend yourself with it.”

Tobirama grimaced, having figured that already.

“What you do is start feeding— Churippu was it? She hasn’t fed in quite a while, I can tell, once she gets some juice in her she can ward as effectively as Botan if not— Kitten?”

Tobirama had gone utterly still, eyes wide and staring into the distance, the hand still resting on his bicep digging its nails in. “No.” He breathed, “I can’t do that! You can’t ask me to do that after you said—!”

“Kitten!” Otsuno grabbed his chin and jerked him gently to face him. “It’s not what you’re thinking, I promise. I said ichiren-bozu were strange youkai, didn’t I?”

Tobirama nodded.

Otsuno smiled in relief, “Ichiren-bozu feed on devout prayer. Not chakra. Not-not unwillingly given chakra at least, I think there’s some Yin chakra that gets nibbled on in the process, but whatever! Pick something you believe in with your whole being and pray to it. For it. Whichever. Try Kuraokami, you might get good results.”

Tobirama let out an anxious breath and relaxed, reaching up with his free hand to tug on Churippu’s tassel. She nuzzled his fingers in response. “That’s all?”

Otsuno nodded. “That’s all. Promise.”

Tobirama took a careful breath, “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good!” Otsuno said decisively, scooping up his flask and hopping to his feet. “Now that this touching episode is over, it’s time I showed you the library.”

Tobirama perked up, “Library?” He hastily downed the rest of his cup and climbed to his feet to follow.

“Hah! Thought that’d get your attention,” Otsuno grinned over his shoulder. “It’s become highly evident that you’ve holes in your education and I need to fix that. And you, I’m going to load you up with so much homework your eyes will bleed!”

Tobirama grinned, “Is that a challenge, Shishou?”


	10. Exploding things for theoretical purposes only. Mostly.

 

_“Hah! Thought that’d get your attention,” Otsuno grinned over his shoulder. “It’s become highly evident that you’ve holes in your education and I need to fix that. And you, I’m going to load you up with so much homework your eyes will bleed!”_

_Tobirama grinned, “Is that a challenge, Shishou?”_

* * *

True to his word Otsuno started stacking books and scrolls in his hands the instant they hit the shelves. And there were many shelves. It was enough to make him giddy. It was easily four times the size of the Senju repository.

Tobirama hadn’t actually spent much time in the temple complex itself; he was usually outside for Sage training or in the residential areas in the back recovering from Sage training. And when he was taking a break from Sage training Otsuno usually gave him chores that kept him within those two areas, like weeding, gardening, sweeping the steps and paths, making minor repairs to the statues, helping cook, things of that nature.

The temple complex was dominated by a grand central room where the priests would meditate and worshippers would come to lay offerings to a huge statue of Kuraokami, which Tobirama found to be unhelpfully ominous in its presence. Two wings split off from this room, the right led to the healing wing where people used to be taken for medical treatment when the temple still resided in the Ningenkai, and the left led to the teaching wing where acolytes and lay-people alike were instructed in many subjects.

The room behind the grand reception hall was the second largest in the temple complex, and that was the library.

“Honestly I should have done this from the get go.” Otsuno said, a tad sheepish, “But it’s been so long since I’ve had a student it just… slipped my mind.”

“How long has it been?” Tobirama asked absentmindedly, inspecting the titles of the books Otsuno was stacking in his arms. Hmm, _Theory of Interlocking Dimensions_ looked interesting, and _The Spirit Compendium_ looked like it’d be useful if a bit of a slog.

“About four and half centuries.”

“What.” Tobirama halted abruptly, staring at his teacher in astonishment. Surely he didn’t hear that right?

“Give or take a few decades, yeah,” Otsuno nodded, considering one dusty scroll before discarding back on the shelf and reaching for another. “I’m over five hundred, Kitten. Sometimes I forget these things.”

“How?” Tobirama asked, “You barely look forty!” He added. In response Otsuno dumped another two books in his arms. _The Sage’s Scribe_ and _Tale of the Bamboo Cutter: The Annotated Histories._

“First one’s a biography, second one’s a historical compilation,” Otsuno said, blithely ignoring the question and steering him over to a table, “save those two for last, read the compilation first, then the biography. I think you’ll find it very interesting reading.”

“Why can’t I read them first— wait, don’t distract me! Explain how you’re five hundred!” Tobirama sank into a chair with ill grace and snatched up _The Spirit Compendium_ , either to read or to bludgeon Otsuno, whichever was more appealing.

“I was getting to that, my gods,” Otsuno took the chair across from him, eyeing him with extreme annoyance. “It’s the Sage chakra. It has a rejuvenating effect when you learn it properly. Instead of, you know, the quick and dirty way from Summons which just has a higher chance of calcifying you.”

Tobirama’s grip on the book was starting to become white knuckled, “And when,” he hissed, “were you going to mention this?”

“When it came up?” Otsuno shrugged, “It’s been awhile, I told you, I don’t really think of these things as mattering much anymore.”

Okay, Tobirama will concede that, time makes molehills out of all mountains eventually. Still!

“As for your second question, if you read those two first you’ll be a _little_ too distracted to focus on the others. Just a bit.”

“I’m already distracted now.” Tobirama deadpanned, “How long have you been in the Makai anyway? Surely not the entirety of those centuries.”

“Oh, well, that’s a story.” Otsuno smiled, leaning back in his chair, “It was like this. About five hundred years ago this temple sat on Mt.Rishiri in the Ningenkai, and you probably won’t find it on the maps anymore but it used to be in Fire, right where the—

And Tobirama sat, enthralled, intended reading forgotten, as Otsuno wove a tale of a hundred year old Sage who’d elected to stay with his temple when Mt. Rishiri blew, he’d been born there and he’d intended to die there, you see. Only to decide at the last minute, you know what, fuck that, he had phenomenal cosmic powers and he was going to use them.

So, that Sage gathered up the lava as it spilled and redirected it to the open sea, whirled the gases and smog and ashes with wind and compressed them into rock and chucked them into the distance. But a Sage only has so much natural chakra to expend. And the earthquakes that followed were nothing to contend with.

Finally, that weary Sage surrounded his beloved temple with the remaining dregs of power and removed it from the human world entirely.

“And that’s how I punched a volcano in the face.” Otsuno finished smugly.

“Wow,” Tobirama breathed, “You can do that with Sage chakra?”

He grinned at his student’s wonderment. Sometimes, he really was old enough to have forgotten how impressive it was.

* * *

In the two days Tobirama spent at the temple he managed to slog through the entire _Spirit Compendium_ , which was interesting but as tedious to get through as he first thought, and at least half the scrolls, which contained yet more chakra exercises that laid the groundwork for some very… interesting techniques, to say the least.

“You can write seals on _air?_ ” He stared in healthy skepticism at the diagram depicting a monk surrounded by floating sigils.. They were once again seated outside, this time sipping tea on the engawa off the dining room after lunch, facing the sparse mountain forest behind the temple.

“Sure you can,” Otsuno said absently, lightly meditating, “you can write seals on anything if you know what you’re doing.”

“But how does that even _work?_ ” Tobirama set the scroll down and grabbed for his tea, glaring at the diagram in frustration, “I think I can see the logic behind the theory but it just doesn’t make sense. How are you supposed to affect things without a proper medium?”

Otsuno snorted, “Remember when I said you needed to know what you’re doing? Yeah.”

Tobirama glared at him.

Otsuno opened one eye to squint at him, then he groaned, “Fine, fine!” He poured himself another cup of tea, muttering imprecations under his breath, “Okay, so the medium you use determines what kind of seals you use, yes? Yes. Paper’s the most versatile medium, and the least dangerous to fuck up a seal with, so that’s what most people use. But you can write a seal on anything, and I mean _anything._ Wood, stone, people, and yes, even various elements. One’s not anymore dangerous than the other provided you’re not a complete novice at the sealing arts.” Otsuno squinted into his tea, “Oh. Yeah. This is journeyman stuff.”

“Is it really?” Tobirama asked. The Uzumaki had never— but then, the Senju and Uzumaki were close but not ‘tell each other every secret they had’ close. And the clans weren’t really in the habit of fighting each other’s battles for them anyway, too prideful by half.

Otsuno hummed thoughtfully and set his cup down, pulling an ink bottle out of a pocket, “Sealing ink is comprised of water, ash, and blood because that’s how you get the best conductivity. That’s earth and fire for the ash, air and water for the, uh, water, and blood for the chakra element. And that’s it. It’s the _ink_ that conducts chakra, not the medium. Ink and chakra are the only ingredients necessary for a seal, and if you _really_ know what you’re doing then not even the ink matters either. That’s why you can write seals on anything.”

To demonstrate, Otsuno set the bottle down and lifted the ink out with a wave of his left hand, he turned his hand over so his palm faced upwards, fingers outstretched and clenched together. A moment of near effortless concentration shaped the ink floating over his palm into a basic sigil for concussive force, the lines neat and sharp.

His right hand he set sideways over his elbow, palm facing out and fingers clenched together. With a sharp motion he snapped his right palm to his wrist and the ink lit up with bright red light and Tobirama bit down on a gasp. A ripple in the air signified the concussive force that blasted from Otsuno’s hands and knocked a tree over all the way across the yard.

“Aw, damn, I didn’t mean to knock the tree over.” Otsuno exclaimed in dismay, tugging on his ponytail, “Put too much force into it. I must be out of practice.”

Tobirama blinked, speechless, “I imagine air isn’t very good for binding and warding.” He said eventually, dazedly.

“Mm, no, it’s mostly offensive. Hey, do you think I can still salvage that tree?” Otsuno peered at it, “It only looks a little… smashed.” He trailed off sheepishly.

“And,” Tobirama was still blinking, it not being everyday someone effortlessly smashed the boundaries of what you thought possible, “you said even the ink didn’t matter if you knew what you were doing?”

It was Otsuno’s turn to blink in surprise. “You’re wondering if this will work on any supernatural attackers?”

“Are you saying it won’t?”

Otsuno grinned. It wasn’t a nice grin.


	11. Interlude of climbing vines

 

_It was Otsuno’s turn to blink in surprise. “You’re wondering if this will work on any supernatural attackers?”_

_“Are you saying it won’t?”_

_Otsuno grinned. It wasn’t a nice grin._

* * *

No less than three cousins came gibbering to him in terror before Hashirama decided that maybe he ought to see what his precious little brother had been getting up to as of late. Before someone had an accident.

It was easy enough to find him, all he had to do was locate the source of frantic retreat and Voila! Tobirama was at the other end. Worked every time. His little brother could be so predictable sometimes, Hashirama thought, usually when he was being highly inconvenient for everyone else.

Hashirama poked his head into the sauna, “You’re scaring the cousins again,” he said, lightly reprimanding.

Tobirama scoffed from his steamy corner, “The cousins need to stop being so easily spooked then.” He corrected. “And close the door, you're letting the steam out.”

Hashirama sighed at him but obligingly shuffled into the room and shut the door behind him. Immediately his clothes became sticky with the heat and steam and sweat broke out on his brow.

“Better?” He asked, sitting down on the bench next to his brother.

“You shouldn't wear clothes in the sauna,” was Tobirama’s reply, “Do you want heatstroke?”

He’d already sighed once so he resisted the urge to sigh again, if he sighed every time Tobirama was difficult he’d do nothing but sigh. “Is this about what Father said?”

“The medics said there was nothing wrong with me. That Hyuga was just being a lying bastard.” Tobirama instantly grumbled. Hashirama bit down on a smile. _Ah,_ he thought, _got you._

“The medics also said your coils felt different since they examined them last.” Hashirama pointed out.

Tobirama scoffed, “I’m in the midst of puberty, of course they feel different.” He reached one hand out to the basin of water beside him but ignored the ladle in favor of scooping up a glob of water in one circular motion and tossing it at the coals. “They're medics, you’d think they'd remember that.”

Hashirama stared at the casual use of suiton without handsigns. “That’s new,” he said dumbly. Well, at least he had a good idea of what sent the cousins running in terror now.

Tobirama furrowed his brow in brief confusion before realization stole over his face. “Oh, this? I've been practicing.” He said, a secretive smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he scowled, “Since I have nothing but time to practice.”

Hashirama hastily changed the subject.

“So what sent everyone running? Can’t have just been a little suiton, they’re not _that_ easily spooked despite your opinions otherwise.”

Tobirama’s flat expression said yes, they were that easily spooked, most of them wouldn’t even look him in the eye. And it’s not like he could say anything about that because instinctively avoiding red eyes was the difference between getting caught by a Sharingan and surviving. Or at least, that’s how Hashirama translated it. His brother had very verbose expressions.

“I was just practicing,” Tobirama grumbled, “It’s not my fault they stop doing chakra exercises after water walking. If they just set aside ten minutes every day to explore their own chakra they wouldn’t be so easily intimidated by basic competence.”

Sometimes, Hashirama just had to lament at how skewed Tobirama’s perspective could be. Being a highly logical perfectionist with terrible social skills did his brother no favors when it came to other people, and somehow, being a mildly empathic sensor was just making it worse.

Rather than explain, once again, how his definition of ‘basic competence’ far outstripped most people’s, Hashirama just plastered on his most encouraging smile. “Show me?”

That garnered a wary look which... honestly hurt a bit. There was a time when showing each other all the cool jutsu tricks they figured out was the highlight of their day, united oddball affinities in the face of a clan that was earth, wind, and fire in that order, and didn’t have much to teach Hashirama who was Wood, and Tobirama who was Water and Lightning. They’d shared a profound bond of commiseration at all the groundwork they’d had to figure out for themselves over the years, to… often unintended results.

Then again, things haven’t been the same between them since that day at the river...

Hashirama just kept his smile in place until Tobirama folded under the force of his cheer, as always. Hashirama was not unaware that his little brother would go to ridiculous lengths to avoid being subjected to the brunt of his extroverted sunny nature. He could be cute like that.

With one last glance, Tobirama cupped his hands in midair and began a gentle circular motion.

“I haven’t quite mastered it without the physical motion yet.” Tobirama said, brow furrowed in intense concentration.

Hashirama just hummed, too engrossed in watching the steam in the sauna gradually condense between his brother’s hands until he was holding a respectably sized glob of water and the steam had all vanished. The room was uncomfortably hot and dry with the moisture completely removed from the air, even the dampness in Hashirama’s clothes had been siphoned out.

Tobirama smirked at him, “Well? What do you think?”

“Huh,” was his clever remark, “I take it you also haven’t mastered distinguishing between the water you mean to grab and the water you don’t?”

“Anija!”

He probably should have expected to have all that water thrown at his face. At least it was cool.

* * *

After a brief wrestling match— which Hashirama won by dint of being much taller, Tobirama not having hit his growth spurt yet— Hashirama insisted they adjourn for lunch somewhere other than the sauna and stop scaring the cousins away from it. No, little brother, you only think scaring the cousins is a good idea because you’re pent up and restless and mad at the world. Hopefully it’s just a puberty thing and you’ll grow out of it.

(Needless to say, that earned him another dousing.)

Eventually, he was able to wrangle his brother, fully clothed no less, to his room for a quick lunch.

Watching his brother unerringly select the fish stuffed rice balls from among the variety he’d grabbed and mow through them at record speed, Hashirama congratulated himself on a job well done. If he knew his brother, and he certainly did for the most part, then he’d probably been training for a while now and got so caught up in it he probably neglected to take care of himself.

 _And that’s just silly,_ he thought, _doesn’t he know he’ll never get taller if his body doesn’t have extra reserves to draw on?_

No matter. That’s what big brothers are for.

“Hey, little brother?” Hashirama blinked perplexedly at what he just noticed, “Since when do you wear prayer beads?”

Tobirama ignored him until the rice ball in his hands was thoroughly decimated. Eventually he said, “I met this old priest in Yumeyo who was passing through. He said I should take care of them.”

“But you’re not even remotely religious?” Hashirama said, utterly baffled. Not too baffled to snatch a plum stuffed rice ball though, some things were more important than other people’s weird life choices.

“I could be,” Tobirama mused, “I’ve been thinking about it.” He added.

Hashirama blinked, rice ball forgotten, “What, why? Weren’t you the one who said shinobi didn’t believe in that which they couldn’t prove?” He frowned, “And if that isn’t quoting—

“Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence,” Tobirama spoke over him before their conversation could devolve into yet another spat about their very different views of their father. “A shinobi’s life is uncertainty. We live with the unprovable and barely guessable every day. It’s narrow minded to suggest otherwise.”

“Uh huh,” Hashirama said, dryly, “And you just, what, decided this out of the blue?”

“Of course not!” Tobirama scoffed, a little too quickly, “I put just as much thought into it as I do all my decisions.”

Hashirama peered at his little brother, hard, not certain he quite wanted to believe the suspicion nudging at his thoughts. He _is_ the right age to be— but no, despite the obstinacy and passive-aggressiveness Tobirama was the dutiful type at the end of the day. Then again, he was being aggravated by Father’s orders an awful lot lately…

Hashirama bit down on the wide, gleeful grin threatening to break out. It was about time.

“I believe you.” He said, trying to project utter confidence. “I hope you find religion to be the solace you’re looking for.”

His little brother was starting to look very alarmed now and he had to bite even harder on that grin. “I’m not looking for solace?” Tobirama said, looking seconds from inching away from him.

“I believe you,” he said again, that gleeful grin finally breaking through.

Father wouldn’t know what hit him if Tobirama was hitting his rebellious stage.

 


	12. Don't listen to rabbits, the mochi is a lie

 

_“I believe you,” he said again, that gleeful grin finally breaking through._

_Father wouldn’t know what hit him if Tobirama was hitting his rebellious stage._

* * *

As much as the curiosity was just about eating him alive, Tobirama was diligent, and patiently worked through the other books and scrolls before cracking open _Tale of the Bamboo Cutter: The Annotated Histories._ Honestly, he almost forgot about them in his excitement over the chakra exercises. And don’t get him started on _Theory of Interlocking Dimensions_ ; he just about cuddled with it at night. The sheer possibilities…

When he finally did get around to it, it was ten at night, almost a full month later.

It began with the fairytale _The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter_ as he suspected. He was halfway through when Botan sat up and peered over his shoulder, chrring inquisitively. Indulgently, he flipped back to the beginning and, leaning back against the boroboroton, read the story out loud, keeping his voice soft out of respect for the late hour.

 _The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter,_ apparently also known as The Tale of Princess Kaguya, was about a princess who descended down from the moon to live amongst mortals for a time and learn their ways before departing back home to her palace in the Heavens. It was a fantastical tale of mysterious gold, impossible tasks for pushy suitors, and a lovelorn Emperor who rejected immortality itself out of loneliness. Tobirama narrated with relish to his enthralled audience of two how Kaguya set her five princely suitors impossible tasks to make them leave her alone, and saw through them in a instant when they tried to lie about completing their tasks.

Botan clapped when he finished, and Churippu rattled happily.

He smiled softly, letting Botan wrap his arms around him more securely. His good mood lasted until he turned a page and began to read the history that inspired the story, then it was swiftly replaced with numb disbelief.

The true story was no gentle tale. It was horrifying.

There was indeed a being named Kaguya who descended from the stars, or so claimed the book, but she wasn’t there for the mortals at all. Rather, she was there to consume the fruit of a ‘God Tree’ that was allegedly sucking the life out of the planet and gain ‘unearthly powers’.

The gold found in the bamboo turned out to be a metaphor for natural chakra, the only chakra in the land. The ‘princely suitors’ were ministers from the Land of That trying to falsify evidence of landownership to start a war with the Land of Ancestors. The lovelorn Emperor was the lord of the Land of Ancestors who turned upon Kaguya when she defended herself with lethal force. Kaguya in turn became a monster. The ‘elixir of life’ being the chakra fruit of the God Tree, and the ‘cloak of feathers’ that ‘erased her sorrow and compassion for humans’ being a manifestation of her chakra strength.

The so-called ‘Heavenly entourage’ that escorted her to the moon was actually her own two sons banishing her forever, or so they hoped.

His breathing was coming quick by the time he finished, alarming Churippu and Botan. He didn’t pause, he ignored their attempts to sooth him, he grabbed for _The Sage’s Scribe_.

Inside it detailed the life of Byakko of the Land of This, scribe to the Sage of Six Paths himself. The, Tobirama clenched his eyes shut briefly before forcing himself on, lord of the Otsutsuki Kingdom. He was the rightful heir to the Land of Ancestors, and with the ousting of his mother, the conqueror of the lands _she_ had conquered herself. Which were not insignificant in scope.

Byakko detailed the whole sad story. Hagoromo’s sons, Indra and Ashura, the choosing of the successor for not just the philosophy of Ninshu, but the whole kingdom as well. Ashura’s success, Indra’s madness, the warring of brothers. The splitting of the country. Sharingan. Rinnegan. Mokuton. Uchiha and Senju.

The Bijuu. Who were, in a sideways fashion, the aunts and uncles of the collective Senju and Uchiha clans, and the Hyuga clan’s cousins.

It was morning by the time he finished.

Getting up to face the day was the last thing he wanted to do.

He did anyway.

* * *

“You brought me tea,” Butsuma observed later that morning, gazing impassively down at the steaming cup on his desk. “Why, have you brought me tea.”

“Can’t a son bring his father tea?” Tobirama grumbled, angrily sifting through reports from his spot on the other side of his father’s desk. _Mission report, mission report, intel, logistics report, intel, mission report..._

“A son may offer his father all kinds of things,” Butsuma said with deceptive mildness, “but I know my son, and he never brings me tea without an ulterior motive.”

Tobirama paused, side eyeing his father, before resuming his sorting. Honestly, it was no mystery where Hashirama got his disorganized nature from.

“Hmm,” Butsuma idly picked up the cup and swirled his tea, turning his gaze on his son, “you aren’t trying to convince me of some point, so you must not want something. You are angry but not passive-aggressive, so it’s not me you’re mad at. You’ve been stewing in your own thoughts this whole time and you’ve yet to say why.” He was silent for a moment, contemplative. “What’s wrong, Tobirama?”

And, well, he couldn’t exactly deny it, could he? Butsuma was very familiar with the ulterior motives behind Tobirama being accommodating. Years ago when he was much younger, his father hadn’t much attention to spare for his children, and even less use for wasted time. But bringing him tea, offering assistance, little things like that would garner a tired sort of approval. It was better than nothing at all.

Tobirama slowly put the stack of papers down and lowered his hands to his lap, covering Churippu with a hand and getting a discreet nuzzle to his palm in return. “Have you ever,” he said carefully, “wondered why we’re feuding with the Uchiha? We had to have had a good reason.” He added.

He didn’t want to look at Butsuma. He could already picture the thunderous disapproval there clearly. Questions like these were why Hashirama was always on the outs with their father.

“It doesn’t matter,” Butsuma said at last, voice soft with exhaustion. Tobirama looked up and found, not anger, but thoughtful resignation. “No matter what those reasons were, whether they were valid or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are feuding _now_. Knowing how it came about doesn’t erase the tragedy between then and now.”

“Oh.” He rubbed a thumb over Churippu’s fire-tulip pendant. “You’re not usually this… calm when Hashirama brings up the topic.”

Butsuma’s expression turned wry, “Your brother,” he grimaced, “doesn’t do anything near as considerate as ‘bring up the topic’. He rails. He hounds. He accuses. Now I _do not_ ,” he stressed, “disapprove of his dream of ending the feud. We all want a break from the fighting, it’s hardly shameful. Nor do I begrudge him his desire to end it bloodlessly; gods’ know if the Uchiha were to be wiped from the face of the country _as they are now_ the resultant power vacuum would be absolutely disastrous.”

Tobirama made a _fair enough_ expression. It was true after all.

“What I object to,” Butsuma growled, setting the cup down with a thunk, “is his silly notion that he can change the world if he just, I don’t know, _hopes_ hard enough.” Butsuma’s gaze turned hard. “One man alone cannot go against the flow of the world no matter how strong he says his convictions are. The world will always beg to differ. To think otherwise is a child’s notion.”

“One person might start a chain reaction.” He pointed out, unable to help himself.

Butsuma arched a brow, taking another sip of tea, “A chain reaction implies a sequence of similar entities arranged closely enough to affect each other. A domino that falls in isolation is useless.”

“That’s assuming the domino is isolated in this scenario,” Tobirama said, brows furrowing, “Someone put the domino there, so _someone_ will notice when it falls regardless of its proximity to other dominoes.”

“And if they only notice because they have to clean up the mess?”

Tobirama opened his mouth to reply, then closed it when he had no good answer.

“The scenario is flawed,” he said eventually, “We’re the dominoes, not the one who arranged them. We’ll never actually know how close we are to any others out there.”

“Precisely.” Butsuma nodded. “If you’re finished, go take a nap. I can tell you’ve been up all night again. If the bags under your eyes got any heavier you’d need to stick them in storage scrolls for lighter travel.”

Tobirama immediately scowled, “That’s terrible,” he complained. He got enough awful attempts at humor from his brother, he didn’t need to stick around for his father’s awkward idea of jokes.

Closing the door to his room, he swiftly collapsed on Botan who cuddled him close without pause, purring happily to see him.

“When I wake up,” he said, voice muffled by Botan’s soft, squishy body, “we’re going to go visit Shishou. I have a bone to pick with him.”

 


	13. Insanity is lacking sleep and expecting it to go well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to RinRin who helped me through writer's block for this chapter. Thanks again for letting me ramble at you RinRin!

 

_Closing the door to his room, he swiftly collapsed on Botan who cuddled him close without pause, purring happily to see him._

_“When I wake up,” he said, voice muffled by Botan’s soft, squishy body, “we’re going to go visit Shishou. I have a bone to pick with him.”_

* * *

Tobirama didn’t bother with politeness. Once he had a chance to sleep and process, he was incensed beyond all hope of politeness. Contrary to what he’d told Botan they didn’t go to the temple as soon as he woke up; that would be premature and as a rule Tobirama did not go charging in until he’d accounted for the variables. No, Tobirama’s first destination is the Clan Repository.

Otsuno-shishou had another thing coming if he thought his student would accept such outlandish information at face value.

The Clan Genealogies were rigorously maintained and scrupulously policed for accuracy; tampering with them was punishable with a death sentence. The oldest one was a scroll, a dusty neglected one at that, kept more for tradition’s sake than anything else. He’d never had cause to go looking for it. Not until today.

The Senju had long claimed relation to the Sage, that Tobirama already knew, and the Uchiha did the same, which was another point of contention between the Clans. Not that Tobirama understood that. A lot of time had passed since the Sage’s time and much of it was now legend. Any claim was in doubt.

He stared down at the scroll, hands clenched on the table in a white-knuckled grip. The name Ashura stared back with silent reproach, the last name blotted out with ink. He snarled, laying a hand over the ink. Earth might not be his element but every Senju learned it.

Ink was earth and water. The water was long gone but the earth remained, and to his senses the layers of each ink stain was as different as saltwater and fresh. Someone used a different type of ink. He pulled chakra to his fingertips and set to work.

A fierce headache pounded in his temples, the concentration needed for him to use the technique bordered on agonizing, but in the end ink dust scattered across the table top and smudged his fingers and face. And the name of Ashura Otsutsuki stared back at him.

He grinned victoriously.

Now what else had someone thought to hide?

* * *

Tobirama hit the ground running as soon as Botan set him down, making a beeline for the temple doors where he sensed Otsuno inside. At the very last second he veered around to the water trough to wash his face and hands. Gods and dragons were a thing that existed in his reality now, and no one had ever accused him of carelessness.

Niceties seen to, he burst through the doors.

“I can’t believe this! A succession dispute!”

Otsuno yelped loudly, rocking back on his heels in front of the massive statue of Kuraokami, hand coming up to clutch his chest.

“Holy hell, Kitten!” He exclaimed. “Don’t you know not to startle old people?”

“Yes, yes, whatever, but look at this!” Tobirama thrust his small booklet’s worth of notes at him, practically vibrating. “I didn’t believe the books at first— didn’t want to, to be honest —it was a bit farfetched. I went looking through the old parts of the Repository for anything that might contradict or support it and you won’t believe what I found, it’s— it’s— someone went to a lot of trouble to hide it! They tampered with the Genealogies, our Founding history, I found evidence of missing books! Didn’t tamper with so much that I couldn’t gather evidence though, and— mmph.”

Otsuno put a hand over Tobirama’s mouth in self-defense, staring incredulously. “When was the last time you slept?” He demanded.

Tobirama ducked away from Otsuno’s hand, “This morning. But that’s not important—” he paused, staring at his mentor with furrowed brows. “You recognized my name.” He said, almost breathless with realization. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. The Senju have been a prominent name for many centuries now, I mean why wouldn’t you? But you _knew_. How did you know? How did you get this information!”

He doesn’t realize he’s begun to raise his voice until Otsuno is standing up with that stern expression, the one that said he only had so much patience to spare.

“If you will let me speak?” Otsuno said, flat and lacking his usual amusement for Tobirama’s antics.

Tobirama nodded, silent, jittery restless energy still skittering along his skin but now contained, clamped down on in the face of displeasure.

“I suggest you sit down.” Otsuno followed suit, settling back into his spot. “I have this information because many temples used have this information. Kaguya erased people’s memories but that didn’t erase what was written down. And temples have always been a place of learning and scribing; believe me when a Starfarer descended it was written down.” He gathered up the notes that Tobirama had so painstakingly penned, countenance softening. “It is unsurprising, though deeply concerning, that someone tampered with your library. Even in my youth this information has been disappearing.”

Otsuno fell quiet, shuffling through Tobirama’s notes with the occasional thoughtful noise.

Tobirama felt every second like sandpaper on his patience. He was restless, nervous, he’d let his emotional state and lack of sleep erode discipline and now Shishou was mad at him. He resisted the urge to fidget, clasping his hands in his lap to keep them from twitching. Otsuno’s chakra was returning to its default state of dull static the longer he was engrossed in reading, calming down from his irritation thankfully enough.

Otsuno was smiling when he looked up. “This is good work. How long did it take you to compile this?” He asked, waving the notes.

“I started after lunch.” Tobirama said, shoulders relaxing minutely.

Otsuno stared, “What, today? It’s barely seven in the evening!”

“I know,” Tobirama agreed, just as bewildered, “It’s the longest uninterrupted research spree I’ve ever had. It’s not even my birthday.”

Otsuno’s brow twitched, “I’m not sure if you’re being deliberately obtuse or if you’re genuinely oblivious. Either way, I need alcohol to deal with it.”

“You’re so encouraging, Shishou,” Tobirama deadpanned, “I am overcome with the force of your support.”

Otsuno frowned, “Don’t be anymore of a brat than you already have been, I can and will add onto your punishment.”

Tobirama blinked, taken aback, “Punishment?”

“Yes,” Otsuno said, voice flattening out again, “Punishment. This is a temple, not a laundry room. You can’t just come bursting in here, it’s _rude._ ” The dull static of his chakra was churning up into sparks again.

Protests linger on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them with a soundless exhale, bowing his head in acknowledgement. A hand pats his shoulder.

“Don’t look so grim, Kitten,” Otsuno said, all teasing smirks once again, “I’m hardly going to put you through something onerous. First offenses carry light sentences.”

“Then…?”

“My evening congregation is soon to arrive.” Otsuno rose to his feet and gestured for his student to follow him down the left wing. Past the classrooms were a series of storage rooms stuffed to the gills with storage scrolls and crates. Otsuno promptly buried himself in a scroll pile, digging around for something. “Since you’re feeling so energetic tonight you get to help out with services.”

“Ah,” Tobirama halted in doorway, uncertain he heard that right, “I don’t know how to conduct temple services. What are you expecting me to do?”

Otsuno’s response was to toss a blue kimono at his face, followed by tabi socks and an obi.

“There’s your uniform for the night, try not to get blood on it.”

Tobirama peered at him, startled, “I thought I was supposed to be avoiding youkai on the basis of being desirable for inconvenient reasons?”

Otsuno sighed. “It was a joke. No one’s going to try anything under my watch, not if they want to leave with their lives that is.” He seemed to realize that wasn’t exactly reassuring and hasten to add. “My congregation are good people. They won’t try anything. Besides, this temple is a god’s domain, only the most brain dead idiots would bring their malice past the gates.”

“If you say so, Shishou,” Tobirama said, dubious about any assurances of goodwill until proven otherwise.

Otsuno sniffed. “I do say so.”

 

 


	14. Does it count as two-faced if they're both smiling?

 

_“If you say so, Shishou,” Tobirama said, dubious about any assurances of goodwill until proven otherwise._

_Otsuno sniffed. “I do say so.”_

* * *

Tobirama was, not quite nervous, apprehensive? Braced? He hasn’t met a youkai yet that hasn’t attempted to hurt him in some fashion, save, perhaps, for the tiny creeping spirits that cluster around trees and under grass. Little humanoid things with gaping mouths and empty, staring sockets. And Shishou wants to him to— what, exactly Shishou wants him to do is entirely up in the air. As far he’s aware priests didn’t need to lead prayers.

He tugged a bit at his obi, feeling oddly bare without even his armored mesh.

“Why did I need to change?” He asked, grimacing, even with the socks the floor was cold.

“You dress for the occasion, and occasion determines dress,” Otsuno said absently, rummaging through a cupboard set into the floor in front of the statue. He plucked out a bundle of dried sage with a low ‘a-ha!’

“That’s circular logic,” Tobirama complained, drifting over to Otsuno’s side.

“It’s not. Not really?” Otsuno considered it, before dismissing the thought. “It really isn’t. You dress as preparation for the day, and what you expect of the day determines how you prepare. It’s all about mindsets. And mindsets, determine your chakra.”

Otsuno rose to his feet, ushering Tobirama back a bit, “Here, I’ll show you.” He guided Tobirama’s hand up and out with fingertips on his wrist. “This is where you were standing earlier. Sink into your chakra sense. What do you feel?”

Tobirama took a deep breath and closed his eyes; checking for traces was a delicate art at the best of times and annoyingly finicky enough that many people just straight up didn’t bother if they didn’t have a natural inclination for it. Luckily, he knew the feel of his own chakra traces well enough; mist and static and and a _sense of swiftness_ —

“Found it?”

Tobirama nodded.

“Can you feel the emotional imprint left in it?”

Tobirama paused, brows furrowing; he’d never bothered checking traces for emotional imprints before, it was enough to have a rough idea of who. He dug deeper into the feel of _mist/static/swiftness,_ straining his senses to their limit—

And staggered backwards, feeling struck between the eyes by _outrage/discovery/look what I found!_

A hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“First time’s always a kick in the teeth,” Otsuno said knowingly, lighting up the sage bundle with a flicker of chakra and waving it at what was left of the chakra imprint, “After that, it’s just damned annoying when you find it everywhere. Really messes with the ambience. I made you change clothes because what you were wearing was saturated and it was leaking all over the place even after you calmed down. You’re _really_ not supposed to mess with the serenity inside a temple, you know.”

Tobirama cocked his head curiously, feeling the wisp of his chakra imprint disperse into nothingness under the smothering effect of sage. “Oh. _That’s_ how it purifies bad energy.”

“Mm, and your job is to make sure the room stays purified.” Otsuno smirked wryly, “Normally, there’s supposed to be incense burning outside, so people can purify after they wash. But I can’t afford to burn incense all day everyday, so I just greet visitors at the door as they come. Guess who’s job that is today?”

Tobirama huffed, accepting the smoking sage with resigned grace and went to open the doors and light the lanterns. At least Botan and Churippu were welcome company.

The first guests arrived within the half hour, a welcome reprieve from watching Churippu and Botan play increasingly intense games of tic-tac-toe, not that he’d tell them that. A pair of girls— sisters, Tobirama corrected himself, maybe a few years older than him, were walking arm in arm up the path. They were bedecked head to toe in pink; pink kimono, dark pink obi, pale pink headbands holding back loose, long black hair that fell to their knees. They were also completely invisible to his chakra sense.

 _Somewhere_ , Tobirama thought, eyeing that hair, _a Daimyo’s wife is choking on her jealousy._

“Oh!” The one on the right exclaimed when they saw him sitting on the steps. “Aiko, look! Otsuno-sama got himself a cute little apprentice!” His eyes widened in shock. Um. That wasn’t the usual reaction to his appearance. He shot at look at Botan who was curled over and shaking like he was laughing.

Aiko giggled, “Junko-nee, be nice! You’ll make him run away.” Despite her words she practically dragged her sister up the path to the stone steps of the temple. “Did he put you on incense duty?” Aiko giggled at him, Junko trying to shush her through her own snickers.

“Yes?” Tobirama said warily, “Can I…?” He proffered the sage bundle.

Junko smiled wide, holding out her arms, “Go ahead.”

Tobirama circled around them at a respectful distance, mindful of getting any smoke in their faces. As he passed behind them their hair lifted to reveal unnerving, lipless smiles full of needle sharp teeth on the back of their heads. He stiffened in alarm when floating black hair brushed at him, slithering around his forearms briefly before settling back into place, looking like normal hair again.

Junko and Aiko were smiling, toothy and gleeful, when he returned to his spot on the steps. They exchanged meaningful looks before hurrying through the temple door with smothered laughter.

Tobirama absently picked up Churippu and settled her on his shoulder. “That was a little…” He trailed off, uncertain how to describe meeting futakuchi-onna. Botan nodded knowingly nonetheless.

The rest of the night was hardly any better.

Next was a trio of kappa, barely three feet tall, blinking perplexedly at him with beady eyes in turtle-like faces. Then an onikuma, tall and bear-like, who patted his head and declared he’d ‘do well’ whatever that meant. Tobirama turned from dealing with him to find a beautiful but eerily thin woman peering at him from far too close for his health.

The staring was starting to really get on his nerves.

“How was the mountain path?” He asked, trying to not to snap at her to _get a move on maybe!_ He was certain Otsuno would have nothing pleasant to say if he actually upset his congregation.

The woman tilted her head, in the flickering light her face shifted from bony thin to an actual skull and back again “Bearable. The omukade are restless tonight.” The hone-onna tilted her head the other direction. “Will m’Lord Kuraokami be in attendance then?”

It was Tobirama’s turn to blink, “Not tonight, I don’t think.” Which, for all he knew was the truth.

“Ah, I see.” The hone-onna nodded. “A good evening to you then.”

Tobirama was glad to see her go. He was less glad to see Junko and Aiko gliding sedately out the doors, greeting the hone-onna with a cheery “Miu-chan! You met Tobi-kun, isn’t he cute?”

Miu made a noise that was neither agreement nor disagreement, “He has growing to do.”

Aiko gasped, “Miu! Don’t call people short to their faces, you’ll hurt their feelings!”

“A novelty, I’m sure.” Miu ghosted her way past them and through the doors. “M’Lord calls. I must listen.”

“Tobi-kun,” Junko said when they drew near, a very serious look on her face. “Don’t mind Miu. They’re a little sideways, the hone-onna, but they aren’t bad.” Aiko nodded, “If they decide they like you, they’re the most loyal friends.”

Tobirama resisted the urge to massage his temples. “She doesn’t have to like me if she doesn’t want to,” he said, “No one has to like me if they don’t want to.”

Junko grabbed his hand and clutched it with both of hers, “But you’re so cute and polite! You didn’t scream when we smiled at you with all our faces. It’s so hard to find a boyfriend like that.” She added with a ‘Hmph!’

Junko had a really strong grip, Tobirama thought with increasing amounts of obscenities directed in Otsuno’s direction. Was it not enough he was sitting out here in the dark, night vision thoroughly ruined by lantern light, straining his senses for the approach of beings who may or may not want to _eat_ him, he had to be subjected to _this?_

“I’m sure it’s their loss,” He muttered, tugging at his trapped hand, “if they don’t know a pretty smile when they see one.” Touka usually stopped tormenting him when he started agreeing that yes, whoever had pissed her off this time was definitely an idiot and no, he didn’t know what hole the bastard crawled out off but it was surely a deep one. Maybe that would work here?

It did not work. Junko pulled him into a tight squeeze and Aiko wrapped her arms around them both, squealing happily. “You think we have pretty smiles?” Aiko cheered, “You’re so sweet!”

“Don’t you two have someplace to be?” He asked desperately, struggling to wriggle out of their monstrous grips.

The night could not be over soon enough.

 

 


	15. Make new friends but keep the old

 

_“Don’t you two have someplace to be?” He asked desperately, struggling to wriggle out of their monstrous grips._

_The night could not be over soon enough._

* * *

The thing about noticing new details in your surroundings is that once you have, you can’t unnotice them. He hadn’t really noticed it when he returned to his room late last night, his room being primarily full of traces of himself, but the next morning? The sensory quagmire of everyone’s emotional traces on every surface was like a sharp spike between the eyes and the desire for burning sage was urgent and immediate.

Tobirama did what he always did when overwhelmed by people, even if this instance was only by proxy. He went to the Clan Repository, which was only slightly better. On the other hand a bit of light reading informed him that he had other options for purifying herbs than sage, which was great because the Senju tended to favor lavender incense and kept a stockpile on hand.

The quick trip to the right store room while doing the chakra equivalent of holding his nose was easily one of the most awkward experiences he can name that didn’t involve Hashirama. The stuff was just— everywhere!

The shining star of contained violence that was Touka’s chakra bore down on him like a stalking cat before he’d even finished with the hallways in the main house.

“Tobirama, _what_ are you doing.”

It was really aggravating that he was as yet still short enough that she could pick him up by the scruff. How was that even fair?

“Don’t ignore me, Little Cousin. I asked you a question.”

Tobirama sighed very pointedly. Touka was unmoved and unimpressed.

“I,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster while hanging by his shirt, “am purifying my environment. The atmosphere is completely unsuitable for prayer and meditation.”

Touka arched an elegant brow, “Uh-huh. Right. Do shinobi seem given to prayer and meditation to you?”

The correct answer is no. The truthful answer involves explaining a lot about chakra sensory feedback that wouldn’t make any sense to someone who only utilizes five senses instead of six. And also why this is a problem now.

“Am I really bothering you that much?” Tobirama asked, genuinely curious.

Touka frowned and set him down. “You’re not bothering me, no. I just, I’m wondering what you’re getting out of this.”

Tobirama scrunched his nose, “What I’m getting out of it?”

Touka ruffled his hair roughly. “I’m not an idiot. Hashirama can call it your rebellious phase all he wants but you haven’t actually inconvenienced anyone, which is rather the point of rebelling. I know you, you don’t do anything without a reason.”

Tobirama scooted out of arm’s reach to avoid anymore hair ruffling. “I do have a good reason. It’s personal. There.”

Touka scowled. That was the wrong answer.

Tobirama hastily stuck the smoking incense in a nearby vase and shunshined like his life depended on it. Or like Touka had a bone to pick.

* * *

Elder Akahiko was the Elder Tobirama liked the most.

Strictly speaking he was only a Senju by marriage, a samurai who’d sworn allegiance to Tobirama’s Grandfather Kenma for saving his life when they were both young men. He was also Tobirama’s first instructor in kenjutsu, a cut-throat strategist still dominating the war room, and a shameless hider of children who’d been caught at mischief. If you were Tobirama that is; the perks of being the only regular attendant at clan meetings who can make tea worth a damn, or so says Akahiko.

Plus, Akahiko tended to burn incense all over the place.

“I keep telling you that smart mouth of yours will get you in trouble, and what do you go and do?” Akahiko grumbled into his cup. “I’m not going to be around forever, you know! You have to learn to shut up on your own one day.”

“And until then I have you,” Tobirama replied distractedly, poking around Akahiko’s old koto on its stand. It looked… different somehow, since he’d last seen it. There was something… more about it. He knelt down to examine the red-varnished spider lilies and an eye opened in the middle of a flower and promptly scrunched in alarm.

Tobirama couldn’t resist poking it. “I see you,” he whispered, tapping at the carved petals around the eye. A mouth opened up between the carved flowers and stuck it’s tongue out at him.

“Admiring my Higanbana?” Akahiko asked from the couch. “I inherited it from my mother; she was quite the talented geisha in her day. Could make hardened samurai cry. It was quite inspiring.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you play.”

Tobirama twisted around to look at the Elder when he snorted loudly. Akahiko held up a hand, showing off the slight tremors running through it. “My tendons aren’t quite what they used to be, I’m afraid.” He said dryly. “Still keep it in good shape though.” His expression turned wistful, “I do miss it. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I could swear I hear it playing all the songs I like best.”

Given it’s been a koto-furunushi for who knows how long, Tobirama has no doubts about that.

The koto gave a soft, almost imperceptible, sad sigh behind him, three of the flowers opening eyes to gaze longingly at the old samurai pouring himself another cup of tea to hide his own longing expression. Tobirama pursed his lips, thinking. According to _The Spirit Compendium,_ tsukumogami needed love and care to remain friendly. Neglect could destroy them as surely as it destroyed people. Akahiko wasn’t neglecting his Higanbana but… Tobirama glanced back at the koto, they were missing each other all the same.

“Can you teach me to play?” Tobirama asked, gently tapping at Higanbana’s carved side. He tilted his head questioningly at the koto, _is that alright?_ Higanbana made wide hopeful eyes at him with all eight of the carved flowers on this side.

Akahiko started. “Don’t you ever get tired of hanging out with old people, Tobirama?”

It was Tobirama’s turn to snort, “And do what with my time? I terrify the cousins even when I don’t mean to, Brother has responsibilities that he already neglects when he can get away with it, and I’ve been reliably informed that holing myself up in the Repository doesn’t count as ‘spending time with real people’ quote unquote.” He attempted to widen his eyes. “So will you?”

Akahiko grumbled, “Oi, when are you going to stop begging lessons off me,” pulling himself up with a groan at his creaky joints. “It was cute when you were four, but you’re coming up on fourteen now!”

“Not for another five months.” Tobirama pointed out. “And that wasn’t a no.”

Akahiko shooed him to the other side of the koto and lowered the stand so they could comfortably sit. “Call it my samurai upbringing but I’m a firm believer every warrior ought to know one art that has nothing to do with war. It’s healthy for you.” He smoothed a hand fondly over the koto. “And besides, someone has to look after my Higanbana when I can’t anymore and my granddaughter certainly has no interest.”

Just then, the sliding door burst open with a jarringly loud rattle, Touka standing triumphantly in the doorway. “Found you, Little Cousin!”

“I know your parents taught you to knock Granddaughter! I was present for most of those lessons!” Akahiko waved a finger at the air just so Touka wouldn’t miss that he was annoyed at her even if he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah, yeah, you were present for lots of things Gramps. Doesn’t mean I do them,” Touka huffed, closing the door and striding across the room to collapse gracelessly next to Tobirama and ruffle his hair. “Are you coercing Tobirama into playing this old thing for you? Shameless, old man, just shameless.”

Akahiko spluttered in indignation, immediately going off on a tirade about the history of this precious heirloom and how dare—

“He tried to teach me to play it once,” Touka whispered conspiratorially, wiggling her fingers with a wink, “No talent for it.” She grinned.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Tobirama whispered back, thinking of all the things Touka conveniently had no talent for when she wasn’t interested in them in the first place.

Touka’s expression went flat. Tobirama’s carefully honed Touka-sense started blaring warning signals. He leaned back. She was faster.

“And furthermore— Granddaughter, headlocks aren’t conducive to learning.” Akahiko arched a pointed bushy brow, “Honestly, he’s not a pet rabbit. I know your parents told you that too.”

“That’s what you think,” Touka pouted exaggeratedly but let Tobirama go gamely enough.

“You,” Akahiko jabbed at his granddaughter's direction, “are the most shameless onna-bugeisha my line has ever produced. I weep from the dishonor.”

Touka sniffed, “Probably because I’m a _kunoichi_. Is your memory going already?”

Tobirama hunched down as they got going. Honestly, those two got way too much enjoyment out of riling each other up, once they started they’d go for hours. He tapped at Higanbana’s flowers, “Are you sure this is okay with you?”

Seven mouths between eight eyes smiled wide.

 

 


	16. A steady vessel doesn't tip

 

_Tobirama hunched down as they got going. Honestly, those two got way too much enjoyment out of riling each other up, once they started they’d go for hours. He tapped at Higanbana’s flowers, “Are you sure this is okay with you?”_

_Seven mouths between eight eyes smiled wide._

* * *

Tobirama collapsed on the grass, panting hard, arms shaking uncontrollably from the strain. He was burning from the exertion, sweat dripping in rivulets onto the cool grass. He gulped for air greedily, the heat like a choking miasma that stole breath and higher thought all while that molten gold center leached yet more strength from his limbs.

A rod lashed down on his back. Tobirama bit down on a pained grunt.

“Up. Again.” Otsuno commanded. “A hundred more.”

Tobirama achingly dragged himself up to planking position. His arms were shaking so hard an elbow buckled and sent him tumbling back onto his front.

“I said up, Tobirama.” The rod thumped in front of his nose threateningly. Tobirama heaved himself up and began counting push-ups once more, voice coming out in dry, breathless gasps. He was so tired. His arms felt like they were on _fire_ at this point.

Up. Down. Up. Down. 13. 29. 34. Up and down. Up and then down again. 43. 52…

A shudder ran down his spine and his back dipped as he sagged out of position. Otsuno swiftly brought the end of the rod up into the soft part of Tobirama’s stomach with a sharp _whap!_ Tobirama instinctively jerked straight again with a stifled cry, poised there, gritting his teeth trying to ride out the initial pain.

“If you lose count,” Otsuno said, relentlessly, mercilessly, “you will start over again.”

His next breath was closer to a sob, “Sixty-seven. Sixty-eight. Sixty-nine…”

They had been doing this all day, for several days now, ever since Tobirama had successfully pulled in natural chakra and converted it to Sage chakra without passing out. The first mutation Sage chakra caused, no matter who you were learning it from, was adapting the vessel to better accommodate its presence, so that you could draw on it in greater and greater amounts. Since stress had a way of hurrying adaptations along, Otsuno had been working him mercilessly nonstop. All the while, he was to keep hold of that molten ball of exhausting golden chakra. If he let it go, they would start over again.

Needless to say, Tobirama’s current, dearest ambition was to snap that training rod over Otsuno’s head. Repeatedly.

“O-one h-hundred…” Finally he could stop.

Quick as lightning Otsuno was crouching in front of him, rod grasped in both hands and placed under his chin, mere hairsbreadth from skin. “Hold your position.” He commanded.

Tobirama immediately made a noise of desperate protest.

Otsuno was unmoved, hard gaze _daring_ Tobirama to drop. “This rod had better not touch your skin. Hold. Your. Position.” Tobirama was shaking all over now, breath coming in sobs. Everything felt like it was burning and liquefying at once. His elbows and knees nearly buckled more than once as the seconds trickled by with agonizing slowness.

Finally, Otsuno took pity and removed the rod. Tobirama instantly collapsed on the grass, limp, wheezing, unable to move anymore. A hand landed on his back

“You can let go now,” Otsuno said, back to being the friendly teacher he was more familiar with. “This is a good time to break for dinner.”

The muffled sound Tobirama made into the grass was either a benediction of thanks or a string of swearing. It made Ostuno smile that not nice smile of his all the same. Tobirama gladly let go of the Sage chakra and sighed with relief as its rejuvenating effect took hold, cooling overworked muscles and joints, and healing the welts from the blasted rod. He was going to burn that thing if it was the last thing he ever did.

Cool spectral hands slipped under him and gently hoisted him to his feet. Tobirama patted Botan in thanks, leaning on him when his legs wobbled under his weight. Botan crooned and scooped him up, shuffling over to the porch to deposit him on a cushion, hands fluttering in concern. Churippu poked her beaded head out of the teapot, somehow giving the impression of just waking from a nap.

“Please tell me you didn’t get covered in loose leaf gunk again,” Tobirama sighed. Churippu wiggled gleefully in response. Tobirama fell backwards on Botan, too tired to deal with the ichiren-bozu’s shenanigans at the moment. Churippu’s insistence on burrowing into the nearest muck when she wasn’t wrapped around him was one of the great mysteries of the universe.

Otsuno appeared in the doorway of the dining room with a tray laden with food, he set the tray on the low table and took the cushion on the other side. He smiled approvingly, “You’ve really bonded well with them.”

“I like having them around.” Tobirama admitted, sitting up to grab a bowl of rice. “I can only feel them through my chakra when I’m drawing on Sage chakra, so they don’t feel as… _stifling_ to my senses after a while like other people can be. It’s nice.”

Otsuno hissed sympathetically, “The curse of sensors. Everything’s in your face whether you like it or not.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Tobirama sighed, “I can’t seem to make anyone understand either. It’s not an issue of avoiding people, or wanting to avoid people for that matter. I like being _on_ my own, yes, but I don’t like _being_ alone if that makes sense.”

Otsuno grunted in agreement around a mouthful of fish. “Course it makes sense. The philosophy of Ninshu might be all but dead but the effects it intended to cultivate are still very much around.”

Tobirama paused in the act of grabbing a grilled fillet with his chopsticks. “The effects.” He repeated.

“The effects,” Otsuno nodded, “Ninshu was intended to connect people; to gather them together and further understanding of each other. Nice plan; except for the part where understanding doesn’t automatically mean acceptance, but whatever. It was a long time ago.”

Tobirama mulled that over for the rest of dinner.

“That makes sense,” he said at last, gathering up the dishes and toting them to the sink. “Chakra users instinctively gather into clans and groups even if they started out as civilians. Even the most anti-social psychotic will seek out company if they have active coils.” He filled the sink with warm, soapy water and started scrubbing with the washing rag, brow furrowed in thought. “Chakra users also seem to bond deeper at a much quicker rate than civilians do, and we take those bonds— I wouldn’t say more seriously. Clingier? No, that’s not the right word.”

“Hyper pack bonding instincts.” Otsuno offered.

“Yes! That.” Tobirama quickly stacked the clean dishes on the drying rack and drained the sink, wringing the rag out and washing his hands. “That’s the perfect definition actually.”

“That was the whole point of Ninshu,” Otsuno said, pulling out his pipe and tapping tobacco into the bowl, “Heal divides by bonding.”

“Only it made those divides wider, didn’t it.” Tobirama said it like a statement, rather than a question. He leaned in the doorway, watching the sun dip behind the trees, soft orange and purple spreading across the sky.

Churippu chose that moment to slither out of the teapot and spread soaking wet loose leaf gunk around.

Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why are you like this? You know it takes forever to get that out of your beads.” Churippu wiggled unrepentantly, further spreading the mess. Botan tsked irritably.

Otsuno snorted smoke, “Cute.” He grinned around his pipe.

Tobirama glared halfheartedly at him, “You don’t have to spend half an hour getting her clean again.” Botan nodded vigorously, picking Churippu up delicately and holding her at arm’s length.

Otsuno waved carelessly, “Let Botan do it. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Tobirama stilled warily. “We usually stop by dinner,” he said cautiously. He doesn’t think he has another training session in him, even with the healing he was still abominably sore. Botan slunk past to drop Churippu in the sink.

“Oh relax, would you? Now that you can work yourself to exhaustion without passing out you’re ready to start chakra exercises.” Otsuno blew a smoke ring contemplatively, “I might let you bathe first though. All the sweat’s starting to stink.”

“Thanks.” Tobirama deadpanned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re welcome,” Otsuno said seriously. “What a polite little student I have, saying thank you and everything.”

“Okay, now you’re just being an ass.”

“When you get to five hundred, then you can criticize my personality.”

Tobirama scowled, “What exercises did you have in mind, precisely?”

Otsuno smiled his not nice smile. “You,” he said, “are going to learn how to talk to your tsukumogami.”

“I’m what?”  

 


	17. Et tu, Botan?!

 

_ Otsuno smiled his not nice smile. “You,” he said, “are going to learn how to talk to your tsukumogami.” _

_ “I’m what?”   _

* * *

Of course, Tobirama wouldn’t actually be learning this right away. Just the theory. He still had to meet his present goal of being able to maintain a reservoir of Sage chakra at all times to meet the all-encompassing future goal of being able to protect himself from hungry youkai. Learning to speak to those youkai with unconventional physiological make-up was just a perk of the present goal.

Otsuno worked him to collapse for a week straight, allowed him three days off to rest and get used to holding his reservoir while going about his regular duties, then the pattern repeated, allowing for the occasional short mission. Butsuma was still keeping him close to the compound. In the evenings Elder Akahiko tracked him down for koto lessons; tolerating his clumsiness from soreness and exhaustion with the air of one under the impression that it was simply that time of year for stamina training.

In the manner of old people determined to be helpful, Akahiko strenuously recommended the home remedy of drinking pickled cucumber brine to help with overworked muscles. Also in the manner of old people determined to be helpful he refused to take no for an answer. Tobirama was never getting the taste of brine out of his mouth at this rate.

He glared at Higanbana when the blasted koto-furunushi  _ giggled  _ at him. To which Higanbana just stuck all fourteen of their tongues out at him in response.

In this manner the last of September and most of October rolled on by, making way for November, the sixth month since he met Botan. The chill in the air was well and truly settled in and the leaves were falling in earnest now, leaving the trees treacherously bare and obscuring the ground paths.

By this time Tobirama was no longer feeling dead inside by the end of the day and Otsuno had declared him adequately adjusted and ready to continue.

* * *

Tobirama sat before Botan, not in his lap despite Botan’s pouting, and held his hands in his own. Saying he’d been greatly looking forward to this was a bit of an understatement. So far, communicating with Botan and Churippu had been one third translating charades, one third guessing at non-human body language, and one third patiently allowing them to manhandle him every which way. And he didn’t even have that with Higanbana.

“This is going to be a lot easier for you than it was for me,” Otsuno said, making himself comfortable on the side with his pipe. “The way your coils have been altered, you’re a lot closer to Botan than you are to me chakra-wise.”

“Do I read as being a youkai then? Or a hanyou?” Tobirama asked, wrinkling his nose at the smoke. “Is that why greater youkai adopt kamikakushi rather than eat them?”

“It’s daiyoukai actually,” Otsuno corrected, “and they adopt kamikakushi because, one; they’re too big to get any, ah, nutritional value out of measly humans, and two; it’s not easy for them to have children, whereas kamikakushi can be transformed into youkai by interfering with their Sage training. It’s a quick way to expand their numbers when they otherwise can’t.” 

Botan nodded sagely.

Otsuno snapped his fingers, “Now concentrate! Reach out to him the way you would examine a chakra trace, just with Sage chakra.”

That was easy enough.

Youkai actually felt quite strange to his chakra sense. They had an undeniable presence but their chakra was both ephemeral and hardened around the outer edge, like a shell. They left no traces like humans did, and the shell prevented him from getting a read on their emotions. To be quite honest, he was already doing his best to emulate it; having everything hanging out now seemed… a little embarrassing.

Just like before in the Temple, finally getting a read on Botan was like getting kicked between the eyes. It took a moment to parse what he was receiving into understandable terms.

_ giddy/welcome/finally! _

The breath whooshed out of him. “Hello to you too,” he said dumbly, a shaky smile tugging at his mouth.

Botan squinted happily, the actual emotion now flowing from him palpably.

“Do you only speak through emotions?” Tobirama tilted his head questioningly, scooting closer.

An impression of giggling. Then an image unfolded behind his eyes, like a genjutsu but not, more like a gently resurfacing memory.

_ sleepy kitten stumbling in the dark/flopping against one’s side with a pathetic mewl/petting sleepy kitten/hair so soft and white/oops kitten woke/oops kitten mad/ hold still kitten/oops one held too hard/oops/oops/where is that priest when one needs him? _

Tobirama blinked the disorientation away. He reared back in offense, “Why does everyone I meet associate me with small animals? You and Shishou with kittens, and Touka with rabbits…” He trailed off into inaudible grumbles as Botan projected  _ /giggling/  _ and dragged him the rest of the way onto his lap.

“Must be the way you bristle all the time.” Otsuno grinned around his pipe, eyes glittering with knowing amusement. “I certainly wouldn’t pet you.”

Tobirama squinted at him, “You were the kind of person who got clawed by every cat they met, weren’t you?”

Otsuno choked on a lungful of smoke, spluttering indignantly. “I -ack!- am a Sage! I’m one with the world in ways you can’t yet fathom! Animals view me as one of their own!”

Tobirama stared at his teacher, judgement in every line. “I have never,” he said, sticking his nose in the air, “met a cat that didn’t want to be my friend.”

Otsuno glared at him, “Whoop-de-fucking-doo for you then.” He stuck his pipe between his teeth and fumed in disgusted silence. Tobirama exchanged glances with Botan;  _ wait for it… _ and sure enough. “It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong!” Otsuno burst out, “I wait for them to come to me, I let them sniff, I always wait for them to invite touching and yet— ! Stop laughing at me, I swear to Kuraokami I will have you running laps again.”

He buried his face in his hands trying to stifle his laughter, then curled into Botan’s side to muffle it further. Churippu slithered onto his lap, then up onto his shoulder to nuzzle his temple.

_ white kitten nuzzling the hand of a yamabushi/purr/purr/purr _

“Wha— Hey!” He flicked her pendant in mild reprimand. “Who’s side are you on anyway?”

_ mud/glee/baths/glee/cuddles _

Tobirama huffed, “You are spoiled to high heaven. I’m not making you tea baths before bed anymore.”

Churippu flopped over limply, sulking. Botan shook with giggles.

“If she’s spoiled to high heaven,” Otsuno chuckled, “you clearly only have yourself to blame. Tea baths, Tobirama? Before bed no less?” He shook his head. “Next you’ll be telling me you keep a spray bottle of lavender water on hand for Botan.”

Tobirama tried not to wince, “Lavender keeps insects away and aids with sleep. It’s not  _ just _ for Botan.”

Otsuno’s expression went flat, exasperated. He tapped his pipe into a nearby ashtray, grabbed it, and rose to walk away. “I really can’t with you right now, I swear.” He sighed.

Botan peered after the priest.  _ question/mad/question _

“He’s fine.” Tobirama dismissed him, “He’s just jealous I’m not spoiling him.”

“I heard that!” Otsuno shouted from the other room.

“You were meant to!” He shouted back.

“Get out of the meditation room you brat, it’s for serious business!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he muttered. It was about time to be getting home anyway, there was a Clan Meeting he needed to attend today and he really didn’t want to be late. Churippu  nuzzled the underside of his chin.

_ night/nice smelling bath/swaddled in towel/question _

He traced a finger along her beaded length, “Yes, of course you’ll still get your tea baths. I wouldn’t actually take them away from you.”

Churippu rattled happily. She wrapped her tail around and dropped her tasseled pendant to hang from his neck rather than opting for her usual place wrapped around his wrist. Tobirama tapped her pendant fondly and reached for Botan’s hand, bracing for the cold dark of the void between dimensions.

 


	18. Might makes wolves smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little dialogue heavy.

 

_ Churippu rattled happily. She wrapped her tail around and dropped her tasseled pendant to hang from his neck rather than opting for her usual place wrapped around his wrist. Tobirama tapped her pendant fondly and reached for Botan’s hand, bracing for the cold dark of the void between dimensions. _

* * *

Butsuma strode into center stage and sharply cleared his throat to bring the meeting attendants to order; the Elders, the gardeners, his sons, and the representatives from the Hatake clan.

The meeting room was square and amphitheater-like, with raised seats all around and a clear center ‘stage’ for the speakers. The Clan Head had his own bench that faced the entirety of amphitheater, being the one who would speak the most. Likewise the bottommost row of seats was reserved for whomever was elected to speak on various issues, and for various groups, like the Elders who rotated representatives on some system incomprehensible to outside observers. The rest of the seats were for the rest of the clan to sit in whichever configuration it pleased them to.

There was an interesting array of characters in the speaker section, Tobirama observed, but then, usually meetings didn’t necessitate the whole clan to be present.

From the Elders was Senju Nadare; which was particularly interesting because the old pirate loathed public speaking and was incorrigibly crude to boot. Hashirama, who worked a lot with the farmers and gardeners, was deep in conversation with Senju Misono, their head of agriculture, and whatever it was they were discussing appeared to be quite upsetting. And the ambassadors from the Hatake Clan, Muka, the Clan Head’s niece, and her partner in battle, Murasame.

Tobirama himself was occupying his father’s bench with a lap desk at the ready, pen poised to take notes

“Our first order,” Butsuma began, slowly pacing the stage, “is the state of our fields. A problem was brought before me regarding them. I’m sure I don’t have to underline just how important those are.” He nodded. “Hashirama, Misono, you have the stage.” He then sat down next to Tobirama.

Misono gulped; she took a deep breath, squared her sun-darkened shoulders and rose to take the stage, Hashirama bouncing just a step ahead. “The long and short of it,” she gulped again, nervous under so many people’s scrutiny, “the long and short of it is, we can’t keep using the Mokuton to bolster our fields. It’s killing them.”

There was immediate outcry.

Tobirama blinked, stunned into stillness. The Mokuton was the only thing standing between the clan and rationing to meet the Food Tithe!

“Let me speak!” Misono bellowed over the noise, looking momentarily stunned by her own audacity. “Look it’s— it’s a matter of simple botany. Plants require nutrients to grow; nutrients they suck from the ground. Plants sped-grown with Mokuton don’t take nutrients from the ground, they’re fed by chakra.  _ As such they have little to no nutritional value. _ ”

“On the other hand,” Hashirama interjected, “plants with  _ encouraged growth _ suck nutrients from the ground twice as fast. Twice as fast as we can replace it that is. We’re telling you now, it’s not a sustainable model with the amount of fertilizer we can get our hands on for the time being. We’re already seeing stunted growth in parts of the crops from lack of nutrients. And that’s with crop rotation and companion planting.”

“What we’re saying is,” Misono smoothly took back over, “we either need to up our production of fertilizer, which we can’t because the trade tariffs make it expensive enough already. Or stop using the Mokuton for agricultural purposes entirely.”

Elder Nadare stood up.

Misono and Hashirama exchanged nervous glances. He had that effect on people.

“And what of the crops already grown with Mokuton?” He asked. “Surely there is still some use to get out of them.”

Misono subtly jerked her chin to indicate it was Hashirama’s turn. He made a face but obligingly answered, “There’s nothing wrong with the straw, even if the rice itself would starve you, so we’ve reserved it for paper as usual. Any seeds produced are likewise nutritionless but if you plant them and grow them like normal by the time they hit juvenile stage they’re back to normal. Our seed-pile stock has never been higher. It just also takes a lot of fertilizer to make up for their initial lack.”

“Some of the medicinal plants are useless when chakra-grown,” Misono interjected, “but some of them increase in potency and effect. We’re still in the midst of studies.”

“And the useless food?” Elder Nadare arched a scarred brow.

Hashirama gave him his best let’s-all-get-along-naive-idiot face. “We sold it to the samurai. Have to make the Tithe somehow.” He said airily.

Laughter rippled across the audience. Butsuma quietly snorted in amusement. Tobirama ducked to hide his own fond smirk; Hashirama could be devastating when he felt like being petty and sly.

Butsuma rose and clapped once, twice, to redirect the audience’s attention. “We’ll return to this topic later. For now, we have one other issue and then we may return to potential solutions for our crop problem.”

Nadare, Hashirama, and Misono bowed politely to Butsuma and reclaimed their seats.

“Our second order is our next sponsorship.” Butsuma shifted absently on his feet, “Ever since young Sasuke Sarutobi pulled his clan into financial independence we’ve had an empty slot. Our allies, the Hatake,” he nodded to Muka and Murasame, “have forwarded the suggestion of taking on their other allied clan, the Maito. Does anyone have any objections? Any counter suggestions?”

Nadare stood, “It must be asked; can we even afford to sponsor another clan as of this moment?”

Muka rose sharply, “The Maito need protection in name only. They pull their own weight and will continue to do so!”

A loud cry came from the audience. “I don’t care if we can’t afford it, we’re not sinking to the level of the Uchiha! They’ve already had to let the Hagoromo go, the pauper bastards!”

“Silence in the audience!” Butsuma thundered, glaring venomously at the impertinent cousin who wouldn’t hold his commentary. “Vent your frustration elsewhere if you’re not going to be helpful!” Tobirama made a note on his paper to have him assigned chores, just in case his father needed a reminder later.

“...what about the Hagane? We’ve friendly relations with them. No offense Hatake but we don’t know the Maito from the Sage.”

Muka growled.

“Oh, not the Hagane! They’re too far away! Why not the Kamizuki instead?”

“They’re not that much closer you crazy— !”

“Why not the Maito, I ask you? The Hatake have impeccable judgement when it comes to—”

“What about the Mitokado?”

“We can’t. Young Sasuke Sarutobi has already approached them, and the Utatane, for sponsorship offers.”

“Little bastard moves fast I’ll give you that—”

Tobirama idly started a list of every clan suggested and the potential pros and cons of each one. In the end it would be Butsuma’s choice who they took under their aegis but the list would be helpful regardless. He grimaced when the noise level rose and with it the level of agitated chakra. It would be really nice if he had an easier way to filter out unwanted ambient emotions.

He paused, brow furrowed thoughtfully. Actually, could a seal do that? He flipped to a blank page and sketched out an intent algorithm, the closest approximation to a seal that detected and reacted to emotions that he knew of. He frowned, flipping to another page and beginning calculations. The intent seal might be helpful but only in parts, the actual base of the seal should probably be detection… Anchored with Yin for the mind where emotions originate… Open spirals for— 

A hand landed on his shoulder, startling him badly. He looked up at his father, who pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Run out of paper did we?” He gestured at the fan Tobirama was scribbling on. Tobirama suppressed a blush. He did, at some point, run out of paper; upon patting through his pockets he’d found the daffodil fan he’d left in the pocket of his formal robes months ago. It was plain white on one side and he really had been hitting his stride… He shrugged apologetically.

Butsuma shook his head, “Go. You missed the end of the meeting.”

He gathered up his sealing notes, neatened the pile of the actual notes he should have been taking, and departed with a polite bow.

On the way to his room he glanced down at the fan and had to do a double take. Why was he designing a seal that glowed in the presence of deliberate deception? Literally, it would never be useful for him when he can do that perfectly fine himself. He tried to retrace his thoughts but had to give it up as lost after a futile moment.

A gentle poke at Churippu confirmed the faint sensation of  _ /snoring/ _ . He smiled slightly, guess she was going to miss that tea bath tonight after all.

 


	19. Licking things to claim them as your own

 

_A gentle poke at Churippu confirmed the faint sensation of /snoring/. He smiled slightly, guess she was going to miss that tea bath tonight after all._

* * *

In the end, Butsuma elected to offer the sponsorship to the Maito. Better the ally of our ally, however unknown, he’d said, then an ambiguous party they only knew bare traces of.

Hatake Muka had been pleased at the good news, Murasame a silent shadow at her back, and announced that she could have a delegation put together within the week. The disconcerting hint of teeth reminded the onlookers that while Hatake may have placid smiles there were fangs underneath.

Meeting the Maito was a...noisome affair. They were a small clan, like the Hatake, masters of taijutsu and the nigh suicidal techniques of unlocking the Eight Chakra Gates. They were also very...loud. Loud of voice, loud of movement, loud of chakra. Just. Overwhelming to the senses.

Tobirama twitched his way through the first day, practically clinging to Churippu rather than the other way around. Churippu stroked his wrist with her tassel when his sleeve concealed her, distracting him as best she can by talking him through building a shell to hide his chakra behind, which helped a lot but only chakra-wise. Shell being a bit of a misnomer, it was more like an unbloomed flower, waiting for the right circumstance to open up again. He didn’t— understand why other people’s chakra were bothering him so much, it wasn’t normally this abrasive. It hadn’t been abrasive at all until recently.

The next day saw Tobirama rising early, penning a quick note that he shoved under his father’s office door, and absconding to the Rishiri Temple with all due haste.

At least libraries had never disappointed him.

Except apparently his _oh so considerate_ Shishou decided against leaving him be and swept him out of the library. Literally. With an actual broom. Tobirama was outraged to find out that was how Otsuno had hidden his blasted training staff after a few _spirited_ attempts to render it into kindling.

“You,” Otsuno announced, frog marching his sullen student out the door “are far too accustomed to being confined. _Don’t deny it_.” Otsuno said warningly when Tobirama opened his mouth to protest. “You channel your restlessness inward, and I’m sick of dealing with it.”

Tobirama jerked out of his hold, an odd sense of shame crawling up his throat. “I couldn’t possibly have been bothering you, I was being quiet in the library!”

“Do you think I’m blind?” Otsuno asked, voice flat and creeping towards dangerous. “I’m not so old as to have forgotten familiar habits. You come here to get away, but the habits of a lifetime are difficult to break aren’t they?” He softened his stance. “I’m not trying to get on your case —except for the part where I am—  but I get it. I do. You’re the dutiful type however much you snarl and you’ve been convinced that there’s a logical reason to stay put, even if you hate it. _I’ve been there_ , and I’m telling you it’s doing you no favors.”

Tobirama forced his breathing to stay even. “I still don’t understand why you’re bringing this up now.” He said stiffly. “I’m not restless. I just wanted quiet.”

“If you wanted quiet you’d have stayed in your room.” Otsuno pointed out, folding his arms. “You came here because you were feeling _confined_. Which is why you’re coming with me down the mountain.”

“What?” That wasn’t going where he thought it was. What happened to ‘don’t leave the Temple, you’ll get eaten’?

“Yes, you heard right,” Otsuno snapped, “so go get kitted up. The omukade are restless!”

And with that he stalked off.

Tobirama exchanged confused glances with Botan. “What’s his problem?” He asked, nose scrunched in bewilderment. Botan shrugged unhelpfully.

* * *

“What set the omukade off this time?” Tobirama asked later, following Otsuno down the mountain path. Stairs had been intermittently carved into the side so going up or down was less of an all-day trial than it could have been for prospective pilgrims.

“Hm?”

“You said they were restless.” Tobirama pointed out. “What set them off?”

Otsuno abruptly halted, laughing so hard he had to stagger to a nearby tree to hold himself up. Tobirama folded his arms and impatiently waited it out, glaring when Botan also shook with silent giggles.

“I’m sorry,” Otsuno gasped, “that was just too funny.” He stood back up, wiping tears from his eyes. “The omukade are _always_ restless. It’s, uh, it’s an idiom. Like, ‘don’t be careless, danger is ever present’ sort of thing. Except without the metaphor; the danger omukade pose is all too real.” He grinned. “You can also use it to make empty conversation, kinda like remarking on the weather.”

“Oh, I see,” Tobirama said, moving down the path again, “‘Take your gear, the omukade are restless’. ‘Don’t stray from the path, the omukade are restless’. ‘Lock the door, the omukade are restless tonight’. That the gist of it?”

“Pretty much.”

As they got farther and farther down the air began to smell of salt water and a wide cove came into view, the beach sheltered by the craggy cliffs surrounding it. Great, soaring dragons had been carved into the rocky faces bracketing the cove and the back of the beach opened up to the forested valley by the mountain. The sun was morning bright, still chasing away the night’s chill, it sparkled off the blue waters and made them seem warmer than they really would be on a mid-November morning.

It was the most welcoming sight Tobirama had seen in months.

Evidently, Botan agreed, he went charging past and collapsed face first into the sand, rolling gleefully.

Tobirama groaned. That was going to be a pain later.

Still, he thought, it was nice to be able to kick his shoes off and enjoy the peacefulness of the shore. It was a rare opportunity for him.

He looked up from the strangely purple striped shell Churippu was digging up when he noticed a chakra signature approaching. The rustling ferns parted to reveal a tall, gangly woman dressed in a tunic and trousers and a long haori, her long hair pulled up in a bun with black-tipped white feathers artfully arranged in it.

“Ah, Natsuru! You’re usually the one waiting for me!” Otsuno called smugly. Natsuru tipped her head in a bird-like fashion, staring at them with wide, eerie black eyes.

“Otsuno.” She greeted, stepping forward. Her eyes strayed over to where Tobirama was crouched on the shore, her eyes widened and she drew to a halt.

Otsuno was immediately on guard. “ _No._ Natsuru, leave it be.”

Tobirama scooped Churippu up and moved into a better position to dodge, Botan coming up beside him and growling.

“His hair,” she breathed, face alight with awe, “it’s so bright.”

Tobirama blinked, honestly taken off guard. _What about his hair?_ Otsuno grabbed Natsuru’s elbows when she tried to lean around him, straining against his grip in her excitement.

“You have such pretty hair!” She cooed. “Are you at all attached to it? I have a shawl on the loom it would look simply lovely with.” She stared at him hopefully.

“Um, yes?” Tobirama scrunched his nose in confusion. Natsuru pouted, widening her eyes beseechingly. Botan growled louder and bodily wrapped himself around Tobirama.

“Oh my gods, Natsuru, you can’t just ask for people’s hair!” Otsuno exclaimed, “We talked about this.”

“But it’s so pretty,” she said longingly, “are you sure I can’t have any?”

“ _What?_ ” That was definitely a blush crawling up his cheeks, damn it. Botan grumpily projected _crane/loom/bloodshed_ in a continuous confusing loop.

“The Crane Wives run the textile industry in the Makai,” Otsuno grunted, terrifyingly Natsuru was starting to drag him in her enthusiastic wake. “They also have no compunctions against guerrilla tactics to grab any thread that catches their fancy so watch out.”

“I’m not giving anyone my hair.” Tobirama said flatly. “Botan, you can let me go now. Botan?” Botan was still glaring challengingly at Natsuru who was developing a calculating look. “Botan?”

Botan squished him harder into his embrace, cloth body gooping into ectoplasm.

Tobirama will deny to his dying day that he _squeaked_.

“Did you just lick me!” He shoved away, slime dripping from his hair to the back of his knees, chakra coils already going numb. Botan was unrepentant.

Natsuru cried out horror, “Wah! You got it all over his hair!” She stopped trying to drag Otsuno abruptly enough to make him stumble, allowing her to escape his grip and throw herself at Botan with a shriek.

Tobirama firmly ignored the morons rolling around in the wet sand. He sloshed out into the shallows, unbuckling his armor, already suppressing shivers from the cold. “I’m blaming you for this Shishou!”

Otsuno just hid his face in his palm, “Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”

 

 


	20. Secrets that no eyes can see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited for more accurate honorifics. Kogo refers to a ruling queen, and Denka is appropriate for a territorial prince and I chose it because I couldn't find anything for prince-consort. Plus, Ryuichi kind of is one.

 

_Tobirama firmly ignored the morons rolling around in the wet sand. He sloshed out into the shallows, unbuckling his armor, already suppressing shivers from the cold. “I’m blaming you for this Shishou!”_

_Otsuno just hid his face in his palm, “Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”_

* * *

“If you glare at him any harder you might actually set him on fire.”

Tobirama shifted his angry glare to his teacher. Did it look like he cared? Did it really, truly, _honestly look_ like he gave a shit? He was cold, he was wet, and despite his best efforts silt from the shallows had worked its way into his clothes so now he was _chafing,_ and to top it off? Half his coils were completely numb and useless so now he was spatially impaired. So no, no amount of sad eyes from the reason why was going to sooth his mood.

“Is there a reason we were meeting Natsuru?” He gritted, holding on to civility by a thread. Natsuru herself had moved down aways to stare intently at the horizon, shoulders still stiff with mortal offense.

Otsuno coughed awkwardly, tugging at his dark ponytail. “The plan was to introduce you around to some of the local factions. We’re actually waiting for Natsuru’s shipment to arrive before you meet the rest of Crane Wife Coalition.”

He eyed his teacher dubiously, Churippu pouting on Otsuno’s shoulder where she’d been banished for gloating at Botan’s misfortune.

“I understood those words separately.” He informed him.

Otsuno huffed, “You’ll see soon enough. The shipment’s just arrived.” He gestured out to the ocean where a riot of air bubbles were beginning to surface with a watery rumble.

Tobirama turned to look and had to lock his knees to keep from stumbling as a dragon’s head broke the surface; a glimpse of sleek lines and dark blue scales, and a massive, white, feathery mane on a head the size of a cart before it dipped back below. Another blue-scaled and white-maned dragon crested the surface and blew out a cloud of billowing hot smoke before it too sank beneath the surface.

All was quiet for a breathless moment.

Tobirama’s brows furrowed, judging by size they ought to have resurfaced again as they neared the shore.

Instead, a head of white hair emerged as a woman walked out of the surf. She was beautiful. Her white hair was pulled up in an elaborate style with sea shell pins and strings of pearls and she wore easily upwards of ten layers of silk kimono, the inner layers dark amber and the outer layers blue and white and sea-green. Her eyebrows had been plucked in the royal dot style, and a sunburst of scarlet eyeshadow had been painted on the outside corners of her eyes. An equally scarlet line ran from the middle of her forehead to the tip of her nose, and two more started above the line where cheek met upper lip and ran up her cheekbones to her hairline.

Behind her came a white haired man in full armor; the armor dark blue and his under-armor hakama and kimono sea-green with dark amber embroidery. His hair was pulled into a warrior’s topknot and his face was also decorated with three scarlet lines, but in the opposite direction of his companion’s, running down his chin and cheeks to his jawline. Cradled easily in his arms was a crate leaking sea water as it emptied out through the cracks.

“Oh damn,” Otsuno breathed, arm coming up to block Tobirama as his other hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Churippu huddled down, then hurriedly leaped from Otsuno’s shoulder to her preferred human, and Botan scrambled behind them both.

“Ryuuko-tenno! Ryuichi-denka!” Natsuru bowed low, surprised and suddenly nervous. “Humblest apologies, but I was expecting one of the Samebito.”

“We are aware,” Ryuuko-tenno intoned, “Our own apologies for the inconvenience. Our Ryuichi has your shipment, as you can see.” She gestured gracefully and her companion, Ryuichi, stepped forward to hand the crate to Natsuru and stepped back behind his Lady once more.

As Natsuru stuttered her thanks Ryuuko turned her head and settled her intense gaze upon upon the priest and the dripping wet shinobi he’d pushed behind him. Even with his usual apathy towards social niceties Tobirama felt a sting of embarrassment at his current state; wet and sandy and only in his under armor and mesh.

“Priest, will you not introduce us?” She called, barely raising her voice. “Kamikakushi are ever so rare nowadays, and We find ourselves curious.”

Otsuno turned, gripping Tobirama’s shoulder tightly, “Don’t speak unless spoken to, understand?” he whispered hurriedly. “Act like you would in front of the Daimyo but with actual respect; I have listened to you rant about the current one. Ryuuko is the ruler of these seas with all the power that implies, and Ryuichi is her consort. Don’t worry about the kamikakushi thing, the dragons rarely cared.”

“It looks a lot like they’re caring now!” Tobirama hissed back, then he hurriedly plastered on a neutral expression as Otsuno ushered him forward. Up close he noted that both Ryuuko and Ryuichi had red eyes.

“Your Majesty,” Otsuno politely tipped his head to Ryuuko, grip halting Tobirama from bowing. “May I present my student, Tobirama of the Senju Clan of the Ningenkai. Student, I present Her Majesty, Ryuuko-tenno, Ruler of the Divine Seas and Empress of the Horizon. And Her Majesty’s Consort, Ryuichi-O, Sword of the Coral Boundary.”

Otsuno’s hand on his shoulder guided him into a short bow. “It is my honor,” Tobirama said, the most honest he could be when those titles meant nothing to him, grand as they were. The dragons regarded him impassively for a long, tense minute..

“He is no longer the Moon’s to claim,” Ryuuko said at last.

“The path of rain is open to him,” Ryuichi said, perhaps in agreement.

“He’s not anyone’s to claim,” Otsuno said carefully, warningly. “And his path is his own.”

Ryuuko placed a hand on Ryuichi’s arm, although he had not moved in the slightest save to tilt his head.

“We did not come to contend this matter,” Ryuuko said, inclining her head graciously. “We came to assuage Our curiosity, and We are satisfied now.” She glanced at her companion. “Come, Our Own, Our business concludes.”

Ryuichi regarded them with half-lidded eyes a second longer before following his Lady back into the water.

Otsuno slumped with a pained, breathless noise, “I really wasn’t expecting _them!_ I thought it’d be a Samebito, or, or a Shojo!”

“Right?” Natsuru laughed hysterically, “I think I need to sit down now.”

“You can’t,” Otsuno lamented, “The Orihime is expecting us, remember?”

“Grandma Kurono would understand,” Natsuru tilted her head, shifting her stance in a distinctly bird-like fashion. “But yes, we cannot wait.”

“Am I meeting more royalty today?” Tobirama asked, “Only I don’t think it’ll be good for Botan and Churippu’s nerves.” He concluded dryly.

Natsuru laughed, “No, no, Orihime is an elected title. For the best Weaver amongst us. Come, come, you must meet her! I promise I won’t steal your hair when you’re not looking.” She blinked imploringly with her large, black eyes.

“But just you, right?” Tobirama asked, brow arched. Under his gentle petting Churippu stopped shivering but she was still wrapped tightly around his throat. Botan was clinging to Otsuno, much to his indignant objection.

Natsuru laughed again, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She hoisted her crate higher and beckoned them into the forest. “We’ll even get you dried off too!”

It was a short trip, all things considered. The Crane Wife Coalition as Otsuno called them apparently didn’t live too far from shore, secure in the shadow of Mount Rishiri. Their village was small but well built, surrounding what was clearly an industrial building for raw materials and dye works going by the smell cleverly vented out the chimneys. There were colorful fabrics draped here and there in windows and doorways, and many more fabric scraps twisted into rope charms hanging from the eaves.

The Orihime, their leader, was an old but elegant Crane called Grandma Kurono. She, like all the Cranes he could see, was tall and gangly with wide, black eyes, more bird in mannerism than human. She carried herself like an experienced General, coordinating the production of sea silk —the mysterious contents of the crate—  in one breath and strategizing their next Onikuma raid in the other. Apparently Otsuno hadn’t been exaggerating about their propensity for guerrilla tactics.

She’d be likable, Tobirama thought irritably, if she’d stop trying to pet his hair.

She also almost managed to wrangle them into her Onikuma raiding warband that Otsuno only just managed to extract them from with barely polite excuses. Which honestly almost made up for the pettings attempts, he could use a violent outlet.

“ _No._ ” Was all Otsuno had to say when he mentioned that out loud. “That way lies bad ideas, and baldness.”

“And don’t ask,” he added when Tobirama opened his mouth, “because I’ll never tell.”

 

 


	21. Interlude of Skulking Foxes

 

_“No.” Was all Otsuno had to say when he mentioned that out loud. “That way lies bad ideas, and baldness.”_

_“And don’t ask,” he added when Tobirama opened his mouth, “because I’ll never tell.”_

* * *

Izuna lived by the sword.

One day he would die by it, he’s sure, but until then it owned his soul in totality. It was a lethal dance, a dance of blood and pained victory. One could only feel truly alive when they were slicing the air, slicing towards their opponent, meeting one’s equal in all things—

“Are you monologuing during your katas again?” Madara demanded from the sidelines, folding his arms judgmentally.

Izuna stumbled out of his stance and almost fell on his sword.

“Brother!” He complained, _scolded_ not complained he amended in his head, “I was in the zone!”

“You were giving yourself delusions of melodrama is what you were doing,” said the _enormous hypocrite._

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Mr.-do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do,” Izuna grumbled, picking up his sword. Stupid Madara interrupting his rhythm. Stupid growth spurts messing with his balance. And stupid Tobirama for good measure. He wouldn’t be building a sword-style from scratch if the little bastard hadn’t been using the style of _Akahiko the Swordbreaker!_

_Where the fuck did he even learn it!_

Not that Izuna was jealous, shut up. He was picking up plenty of the katas with his Sharingan. You know, whenever the little bastard deigned to show up.

Madara’s cheek twitched but he graciously ignored the comment, striding forward to grab Izuna by the scruff and steer him back to the main house. Izuna went limp to spite him but his big brother didn’t even break stride, simply hauled him up.

“Come on,” Madara grunted, “there are important matters that you kind of need to be present for.”

“Why is it ‘kind of’?” Izuna complained, _made an observation_ he insisted, “Either I need to be there or I don’t; which is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Madara smirked.

Madara’s default would always be unhelpful asshole, Izuna grumbled, which was totally unfair!

Izuna finally deigned to start walking by himself once they neared the residences, not actually willing to let anyone watch his brother drag him through the streets. He had more pride than that. And also did not want rumours of yet more ridiculous behavior getting back to his father, he might actually go through with his threat of the rolled up newspaper and nobody wanted that.

The petty mischief drained right out of him as they walked past the much quieter forges, now relegated to repairing and reforging what metal was already under Uchiha ownership instead of the furious din of multiple masters and apprentices divvying up new shipments of ore for regular projects or new. Many of their best smiths were civilians who were now out of a job because their skills were so highly specialized and they couldn’t afford to supply them anymore. It was only a matter of time before they couldn’t afford to even allow them to be civilians for much longer.

Izuna didn’t want to think about how the glaziers and their workshop might be next.

“What’s the news on the mines?” Izuna asked softly, drawing closer to his brother. Madara let go of his scruff to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “We’re not gonna lose them are we?”

Madara wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“No,” he gasped, almost dizzy with sickening fear.

Madara took a shaky breath and Izuna realized his brother wasn’t scared like he was; Madara was _angry._

“We’re keeping the mines,” Madara spat. “We just can’t afford our own ore!”

“Brother—”

“Oh, and since the Uchiha are _so renowned_ for our metalwork,” Madara continued, building up a full, bristling head of steam, “we have the _honor_ of _continuing_ to supply those gods-be-damned samurai with _our armor._ And we Uchiha are just _so honorable_ so of course we don’t mind _not actually getting paid for it!_ It’s for the Daimyo’s army, after all! We’re just,” Madara bared his teeth, practically spitting out his words, “ _doing our civic duty!_ ”

“Madara,” Izuna whispered, “please stop.”

Madara took another shaky breath, physically biting down on any more outbursts.

“Is that true?” A shaky query came behind them. One of the apprentices having drifted up to one of the pillars of the building and leaned over the wall, staring at Madara with wide eyes. “Is the Daimyo really expecting us to work for _free?_ ”

There was an unholy crash from inside the forge as one of the blacksmith’s threw her hammer down with a vehement curse, knocking over a tool stand with a loud clatter.

“What!” She stormed over to her apprentice’s side, brushing her sweaty bangs out of her face. “What did I just hear?”

“Shian-sensei—”

“Be quiet Setsuo,” Shian barked, focused intently on her Clan’s Heir. “Explain. What the hell is going on with our _esteemed Daimyo?_ ”

Madara grimaced, “We kept our mines. Yay. We’re just going to be offering our free labor to keep the samurai in quality metalwork or the Daimyo will see us stripped of Noble status.”

The wooden wall splintered under Shian’s hands and Setsuo stuck his index knuckle between his teeth, shoulders hunching.

“Know this,” Shian breathed, voice hushed with rage, “I will march into the Daimyo’s court and spill my guts on his lap before I enslave myself to samurai.” Having said her piece she stomped back into the depths of the forge.

Setsuo bit his lip, “Why can’t they go after the Hyuga!” He cried, “Those stuck up bastards are loaded! Why can’t they just leave us alone…” he trailed off miserably. Setsuo had originally been a caster, carving delicate settings for jewelry, with the loss of his niche he’d been relegated to assisting Shian who specialized in swords.

Madara scoffed, “The Hyuga run spas and onsens. We do actual _important_ work. Why would they bother going after them when they don’t need to steal to enjoy their shit?”

“Fuck the Hyuga!” was Shian’s interjection.

“Brother,” Izuna tugged at Madara’s sleeve, “brother, come on. Important thing we have to get to, remember?”

Madara glanced at him apologetically, “Sorry. It just…”

“Yeah,” Izuna sighed, “I know.”

They walked in silence up to the main house, good mood thoroughly ruined. It made Izuna seeth to see his kinsman so distraught. Shian hadn’t been kidding about killing herself to make a statement, nominal civilian she might be, and she likely wasn’t the only one. The Uchiha were a lot of things but submissive to tyranny would never be one of them.

Finally Madara broke the awkward atmosphere, waiting semi-patiently for Izuna to shuck his shoes, “So, you were working on a new move?”

Izuna side-eyed his brother but accepted the peace offering.

“Trying to.” He said grudgingly. “There’s this one move Tobirama uses; _Butterfly in the Mountain Breeze_. It’ll rip the sword right out your hand and gut you on the backstroke and it’s really tricky to dodge. I always used a combination to counter it; _Monkey’s Dance_ and _Kamaitachi_ , but I think I’m getting close to figuring out a specific counter for it.” He grinned smugly. “I’m calling it _Butterfly Twists Sideways_.”

“Cute,” Madara smirked, shaking his head fondly.

Izuna sniffed in mock offense, “I suppose I shouldn’t expect a brute like you to understand the intricacies of true swordplay.”

“Oh, a brute am I?” Madara snatched him up, locking an arm around his neck and digging his knuckles into Izuna’s scalp.

“Ow! Ow!” Izuna yelped, squirming to freedom, “This isn’t changing my mind! You’re totally a brute, swinging that Gunbai around! You’re like a, like a—”

“Don’t say it!” Madara said warningly, snatching at Izuna who danced out of reach with a rude raspberry.

“Like a lumberjack!” Izuna sang.

“Why you!” Madara puffed up like one of his birds and Izuna bolted.

‘Needed for something important’ generally meant Father wanted to see him so that was where he headed. He skidded into the reception room in record time, Madara slamming into the door Izuna shut in his face.

“Ah,” Tajima said dryly, “my sons.”

That was when Izuna noticed the guests Tajima was entertaining.

“You will recognize Akimichi Chouzaburou; Head of his Clan,” Tajima gestured to the younger of the two, “And his uncle, Akimichi Miwao.”

“We’ve met,” Miwao grinned, the old bear of a man who put Sasaki Nori in his place.

Chouzaburou rolled his eyes, “About that alliance…?”

 


	22. Monkey see, Monkey scream

 

_“We’ve met,” Miwao grinned, the old bear of a man who put Sasaki Nori in his place._

_Chouzaburou rolled his eyes, “About that alliance…?_

* * *

Hashirama poked his head into the room.

“Tobi, you’ve got a mission!”

Tobirama abandoned his attempt at playing _The Blade of Gu-Qin_ , much to Elder Akahiko’s displeasure. Which, whatever, the song was clearly a cleverly disguised implement of torture anyway.

Disregarding the fact he said that about every song he slogged through.

“What and where?” He demanded. “And stop calling me Tobi.” He added.

“Some village on the coast,” Hashirama shrugged, blithely ignoring that last comment, “Technically, as it's in Sarutobi territory it should be their responsibility but it's just some superstitious villager freaking out about demons. So it's probably bandits.”

Akahiko snorted. Sarutobi territory was always crawling with bandits at the borders. It was kind of pathetic.

“Why did they pass it onto us if it's just bandits?” Tobirama asked, packing away the finger picks under Akahiko’s gimlet stare. He was still going to take the job; a nice bandit clean up sounded refreshing after endless border patrols.

Hashirama shrugged, “The client’s convinced it's a demon and is only paying for the removal of said demon, not bandits. And you're interested in esoteric lore now, so…”

“That doesn’t make me an exorcist,” Tobirama grumbled.

Actually, he wondered, glancing at Churippu curled around his wrist, could he exorcise a youkai from it’s premises? A steady diet of prayer was supposed to help Churippu retain her nature as a holy object so maybe…?

Did believing in the existence of youkai powerful enough to be worshiped count as believing in a god?

* * *

To his disgust the mission took him right back to Sarumura.

And there were many bandits.

Tobirama respected Sasuke Sarutobi for many things; foremost among them was pulling his Clan up from vassal status into Nobility, his shrewdness, his business acumen, and his sense for opportunity. His (in)ability to manage the bandits on the fringes of his territory would never be one of them.

Tobirama made a note to himself to kick Sasuke somewhere humiliating the next time they met. Another note, he corrected, seeing as this was _the second goddamn time he’s had to clear out bandits_. And they’d multiplied exponentially since the last time he came through the area rather than have the decency to stay reduced, the bastards.

He wasn’t even getting paid specifically to kill bandits. It was just an expected _side effect_.

Sarumura was as he left it months ago; still a peaceful, bustling village on the southern coast. Although the pervading stench of terror had thankfully abated with the absence of Botan, or so Tobirama was presuming. It hadn’t exactly escaped his notice that Botan _had_ been known to the innkeeper at least; presumably for eating people.

Which he was not going to think about.

Speaking of the innkeeper, he needed to go track him down as he was the client in question for this mission.

There was a crowd in front of the inn when he strolled up, murmuring and exchanging long suffering eye-rolls. Tobirama squinted between the gaps in the crowd. Apparently the innkeeper still looked like a sleepless wreck in danger of dropping dead any minute. Good to know.

“—just because it’s been quiet doesn’t mean we’re in the clear, but oh, no! No one listens to Hidetaka!” This rant had obviously been going on a while if the halfhearted effort to get the man to shut up were anything to go by.

“Father, really,” a young woman weakly patted the innkeeper’s arm.

Tobirama politely elbowed his way to the front, scooting around a broad redheaded man with scars all down his arms, and waved to get the innkeeper’s attention. “Sir, you requested a—”

“HIE! A ghost!” The innkeeper shrieked, pointing at him, “The dead child’s come back to haunt me!” He then collapsed like a broken puppet into the arms of the cringing bespectacled man next to him, twitching and foaming at the mouth.

“Wakano-san!” The bespectacled man exclaimed, sagging under the sudden weight.

“Father!” The young woman heaved her father into her arms with surprising strength, shaking him vigorously. “Father, please! Don’t go into the light!”

Tobirama watches this entire scene unfold feeling supremely awkward. _Is this really happening?_

He shifted to the side when the burly redhead with scars tried to pat his shoulder. The man, a fishermen by the look of him, shrugged apologetically, “Sorry, son, you do sorta look like a demon.”

“That doesn’t make it any less rude to say so,” Tobirama said, scowling.

“Probably,” the fishermen agreed cheerfully, twirling his red mustache, “but when it’s a choice between politeness and honesty, t’is better to be honest me thinks. If something takes me out for something I said better it be because I said what I meant and meant I what said.”

Tobirama tilted his head. _Fair enough._

“Do you know why Wakano-san is convinced there’s a demon?” Tobirama asked, figuring it would do no harm in asking someone of, ah, less delicate constitution when it seemed the innkeeper had been ranting on the regular to his fellow villagers. Not that Wakano was wrong per se, just, a little behind the times as to said ‘demon’s’ whereabouts.

“Oh, aye,” the fisherman brightened, “it happened on the regular you see, that some disreputable sort will come through and stay at the inn, and they always turned up dead the next morning. Sometimes, they’d even go missing, never to be heard from again.” The fisherman’s voice dropped, affecting the cadence of a habitual storyteller. “Mostly bandits. But there were a couple samurai who seemed decent sorts ‘til they got a bit of spirits in them. Wakano swore up and down, sideways, that there was a shinobi too.” He raised a bushy red brow. “That you, then?”

“I didn’t die or disappear forever if that’s what you’re asking,” Tobirama glanced back at the innkeeper only to wince. The overly emotional melodrama was still ongoing and just being in its proximity was threatening to give him hives.

The fisherman laughed out loud, “I never would have guessed!”

Then he glanced upwards, “Fun as this has been son, I’ve got work that needs to be done before nightfall.” A secretive smile crossed his lips and he winked. “The omukade are restless, you know.”

Tobirama jerked, “Wait!”

The fisherman laughed again and faded in a glimmer of golden sparks.

“Ah, shinobi-san? Who were you talking to?”

Tobirama jerked again, whirling to stare at the man blinking nervously behind square-rimmed glasses, having left off trying to revive Wakano after having him snatched from his arms by the innkeeper’s daughter.

Tobirama frowned and the man twitched.

“No one,” he said at last, “I wasn’t talking to anyone.”

“Oh,” the bespectacled man fiddled with his fingers. “Um, Wakano-san is offering room and board as part of his payment so if you want to get settled in while you wait…?”

Tobirama’s frown deepened, “And you know that how?”

The man squeaked. “Um, uh, I’m his son-in-law. Hitoshi Ao. Nice to meet you?”

A peek around Hitoshi revealed Wakano reaching weakly for something in the distance and his daughter wailing about it not being his time yet.

“I think that would be for the best.”

Hitoshi winced. “Um, believe it or not this happens all the time. They’ll stop if you ignore them.”

“Hitoshi-san,” Tobirama said gravely, “I understand more than you know.”

 

 


	23. Beard the dragon in a trap

 

_Hitoshi winced. “Um, believe it or not this happens all the time. They’ll stop if you ignore them.”_

_“Hitoshi-san,” Tobirama said gravely, “I understand more than you know.”_

* * *

Tobirama was ever so slightly chagrined to see the room he’d used last time plastered with ofuda, but only slightly. He’d cleaned up every trap and seal and snuck the key back onto its hook before he left, it wasn’t his fault the room was mysteriously impenetrable the three days he spent in the Makai! He wholeheartedly blamed Botan.

He blamed Botan for having to deal with hysterical innkeepers too.

“Okay,” Tobirama massaged his temples tiredly, “start from the beginning. Again.”

Wakano took a deep breath, “The inn’s been haunted for years! Everyone knew! I mean, we didn’t know _for sure_ , for sure, but we knew! And then the demon started eating bandits and drunken samurai and unruly travelers and I live in this inn! I live here! I didn’t want to die! But we couldn’t find it or figure out how it was killing people and what if it started targeting the other villagers? What if it targeted me! It seems to have gone quiet for now but I won’t be fooled,” Wakano laughed hysterically, “no one’s getting one over on Hidetaka! No sir— urk!”

“That’s enough of that,” Tobirama told Wakano’s unconscious body.

He pulled Wakano’s body into a more comfortable position on his chair and went to crack the door open.

“Hitoshi-san? Wakano-san appears to have been overcome by the stress, you need to come put him to bed.”

Hitoshi looked up from the desk where he was tallying up numbers from the ledger, “Hm? Alright, I’m coming. Should have expected it, really.”

Hitoshi paused in the doorway, face scrunched uncertainly, “Why’s it look like he was punched in the face?”

Tobirama made a disdainful noise, “He’s got giant racoon eyes, of course he does. Tell me honestly, has he looked like anything but punched in the face lately?”

“This seems different somehow…” Hitoshi dithered, “but I’m not sure what.”

Tobirama patted his arm, “Just put him to bed. He needs his rest.”

And if Churippu was quietly dying of laughter in his pocket, well, that was his secret to keep.

* * *

On the off chance Wakano wasn’t crazy Tobirama spent the day walking the property with sage and scriptures just like Otsuno-shishou taught him, drawing deep on meditative calm to parse his surroundings, separating what traces lingered. There wasn’t much; youkai left no traces of their chakra, and civilians physically couldn’t with their coils locked and small. But you could read them almost the same if you were patient and willing to peer deeper than a shinobi’s open abundant coils needed.

There were no youkai that he could find around the inn but there was something teasing in his periphery—

A chakra signature that was curled up tight like a spring bud flickered cheekily from the tiny dock market before vanishing once more among the bustling industriousness of fishermen trading their excess catches. Tobirama quickly backtracked to the private shrine behind the inn and dumped the sage in the incense bowl, forcing himself through the requisite bows with impatient precision before taking off for the docks.

He ducked around the little stalls, dodging the nets and barrels being hauled off the ships, twisting and spinning, trying to catch a glimpse of that bright red hair—

“Here now! Who let you be at loose ends?”

Tobirama spun around so fast he nearly stumbled in his haste, “Uten?” He hastily corrected himself, “Uten-sama, I mean. What, what are you— is that dragon’s beard candy? At a dock market? You know dragon’s beard doesn’t hold up well in moist conditions, right.”

Uten peered at him from under drooping grey brows. Tobirama abruptly realized he was visibly judging a —possible— dragon and ducked his head apologetically.

“Here now, there’s no need for formalities,” Uten drawled dryly, sticking his hands in the basin of sweet rice flour. “I’m old you know, I don’t have the patience for it anymore.”

Uten reached under the stall and pulled out a round of hardened syrup and dusted it in the flour, he poked a hole in the middle with a metal spike and set to work stretching it with a hum, scooping more flour on it periodically. Tobirama drew closer, briefly entranced by the deftness with which Uten twisted and pulled and floured until he was holding a double handful of hair-fine strands of sweet hardened syrup, white and silky as a dragon’s mane.

“Why are you here, Uten-sama?” Tobirama asked quietly, “It looks suspicious.”

Uten ripped the syrup into pieces and rolled them around a spoonful of crushed gingko nuts. Tobirama eyed the treat offered him dubiously.

“You might as well,” Uten said, mouth quirking into a brief smile. “I’ve already lured you here under false circumstances.”

Tobirama shot him a flat look.

Uten considered him for a long moment as he packaged up the sweets in soft paper. “If you’re going to be loitering you might as well help.”

Tobirama bit down on a sharp comment about who lured who out but obligingly went around the stall and dusted his hands with flour. Uten left him to finish raveling the rest of the sweets and pulled out another round of hard syrup.

“Why the elaborate scheme?” Tobirama asked, “You didn’t have to torment Wakano just to see me again.”

Uten hummed, squinting at the pulled strands and added another twist.

“Did you ever wonder,” Uten said at last, “why Daiyoukai adopt kamikakushi? Why kamikakushi are even a phenomenon at all? Surely, it’s crossed your mind at least once, why food to one is potential family to another.”

“Shishou said kamikakushi aren’t much of a food source for Daiyoukai,” Tobirama accepted another strand of dragon’s beard and began tearing that into pieces.

Uten snorted, “Hah! No. It all goes back to that damnable Tree, really.”

“The God Tree?”

“Here now, I wouldn’t call it that,” Uten humphed, “Much too pretentious for that parasite. No, young one, we turned to our prey because we were being preyed upon ourselves. The Tree ate natural chakra, upon which youkai are dependent. Those with physical bodies _starved_ when the ambient chakra levels dropped and those with spiritual bodies were devoured wholesale by the Tree. And those of us who did eat humans drove them closer to the Tree for safety from us.”

Uten pulled up a bucket and started washing his hands, scowl pulling at his wrinkles. “Youkai eat humans for their chakra; and humans can learn Sage chakra to fend us off. It’s fair, see? But it takes human chakra to fight the Tree, which youkai _can’t_ learn. It wasn’t a balanced cycle at all. So we made kamikakushi and that evened things out again.” Uten humphed. “At least until they finished changing and we had to make more.”

Tobirama wordlessly accepted the bucket when it was passed to him, mulling over this new information.

“I don’t want to be a youkai,” he said.

“You can’t halt the process,” Uten said implacably, “every burst of Sage chakra inflames the scars on your coils and flavours any possible mutation with a youkai bent. You can either wait decades to see what you end up as or you can accept the inevitable and guide it favorably.”

“I don’t like inevitable fates; I live with enough already,” Tobirama was a Senju; he’d _always_ known an Uchiha would kill him. Maybe he’d beat the odds someday and die by someone else’s hand but he very much doubted that.

“That’s too bad, young one,” Uten said, gnarled hands folded solemnly. “I’ve already marked you.”

“ _What?_ ” Tobirama’s thoughts raced, thinking over every minute he spent in Uten’s presence. “When you healed me.”

“Try to forgive your teacher,” Uten plucked up a shakujou from where it was propping up the awning. “Five hundred years he’s been a loyal servant of Kuraokami; he’s not used to thinking of his god as something to defend against. His offer of sanctuary was honestly meant. He couldn’t have known a higher authority in his temple would decide otherwise.”

“Why would you even want me!” Tobirama hissed. “The Tree was sealed in the moon. You don’t need kamikakushi anymore.” He backed up to put the stall between them, hand going to to his sword.

“Do I need a weapon of war in order to want you?” Uten rebutted. “Maybe I just wanted the boy who traversed on a broken leg to find a little youkai a proper home.”

“Think about it, young one. And when you’re ready, go to my granddaughter.”

Uten leaned on his shakujou and dissolved into mist, leaving candy, and a very bewildered, hurt shinobi child behind.

 

 


	24. That's going to be a little hard to cover up

 

_“Think about it, young one. And when you’re ready, go to my granddaughter.”_

_Uten leaned on his shakujou and dissolved into mist, leaving candy, and a very bewildered, hurt shinobi child behind._

* * *

Tobirama sealed the candy up mechanically; the hard lesson of not wasting resources drilled into his head since he could understand it making him unable to leave them there. He stared at the scroll in his hand, and angrily stuffed it away to hide the trembling in his hand. All this time and he thought— well, it didn’t matter anymore.

He pretended he wasn’t bothered by the words swimming in his head; _do I need a weapon of war to want you, do I need to a weapon of war to want you, do I need a weapon—_

He shook his head in a futile effort to dislodge that damning sentiment, distress rising in the back of his throat. Suddenly, the dock market didn’t feel safe at all, too exposed, too many gawkers. His gaze darted about, searching for cover.

He ducked around a man hauling a barrel on his shoulder, and dodged a woman with a wheelbarrow of octopi, ignoring Churippu reverberating _tea/blankets/books/warm/happy_ against his skin. He scampered out to the dock proper, ducking under one and curling up tight, trying to force his breathing even again. Churippu slithered from his wrist to coil on top his head, running her tail through his hair.

_/boat on land/_

“What?” Tobirama lifted his head, huffing when Churippu’s tassel tickled his nose.

_boat on land/clock_

“I don’t—”

 _rain/clear skies/confidence_ Churippu projected over him, _clouds/rakes/treasure/want._

“Are you—” Tobirama blinked bewildered, “are you trying to _sing?_ Where did you even learn Landsailor?”

 _/sun/_ Churippu wriggled cheerfully, _night receding/flowers full of clocks._

Tobirama laughed despite himself, “That’s not how the song goes.” Not that Churippu could sing in the conventional sense, she had neither vocal cords nor an ability to speak words. Even projecting feelings and images made for a very discordant poem.

His mirth drained away as easily as it bubbled up. Silly songs couldn’t fix this.

He uncurled, stretching his right leg out with a splash, his ankle landing in the tide. He pulled up his pant leg and called Sage chakra to his palm, running down his shin. If the mark was physical than perhaps it was much like a seal, he reasoned, unless it was like the marks Botan left, scars on the inside.

He swallowed as dark blue spilled across the pale skin, a long curling dragon wrapped thrice around his leg from ankle to knee. He cut the flow of chakra but the mark stayed, intricate and beautiful and damning.

_/Priest?/_

“No. We’re not telling Shishou anything,” Tobirama decisively pulled a pulled a bandage from another scroll and wrapped his leg, hiding the mark.

_stolen cucumbers/angry kappa_

He snorted, “That your way of saying bad idea? Can you imagine how badly Otsuno would take this? He panicked enough about Uten the first time. I’m not telling him all the work he put in to keep me safe was basically for nothing.”

_exasperated sigh/giving mochi_

“I know! I know, okay? I know he wouldn’t blame me. He’d blame himself and therein lies the problem.”

_/priest blessing water/_

“That it’s not his fault either, we agree on. It doesn’t change the fact that someone went over his head and broke his given word for him. And, and it’s not like anything needs to change,” Tobirama sighed, “I don’t have to do anything. I can ignore this and I can ignore Uten. Shishou doesn’t need to know.”

Churippu sprawled on his head, radiating annoyance and reluctant agreement.

He plucked her off and let her wind around his wrist, still sulking.

 _/angry kappa/_ she projected one last time.

He huffed, “You’re not allowed to say I told you so until it actually blows up in my face.”

_/ticking clock/_

“Rude.”

* * *

The innkeeper was awake and sitting at his desk when they returned. Tobirama eyed him warily from the doorway. He was clutching a damp cloth to his eye.

“Hm? Oh, there you are,” Wakano greeted him, much calmer than Tobirama has ever seen him. “Sincerest apologies for passing out on you, I’ve been missing a lot of sleep lately! Goodness. Why I’ve got the worst ocular migraine right now. Feels like I’ve been punched in the face,” He said airily, pretty cheery for someone with a migraine.

Tobirama grimaced. Maybe punching Wakano had been a bit out of line. It wasn’t the innkeeper’s fault a Daiyoukai had jerked him around to see what he could lure out.

“If you want,” Tobirama began reluctantly, “I could heal that for you.” He braced himself; not every civilian was amenable to chakra being used on them, even for beneficial reasons. Some civilians were tolerant right up until they really weren’t when it came to chakra.

Wakano blinked. “You can do that?” he asked dumbly, “Oh my gods, that’s amazing! Sure!”

Um, okay? That, was a unique response from a civilian.

Tobirama laid fingertips gently on Wakano’s cheek and let bright green chakra sooth away the bruise caused by his own churlishness. It was the least he owed him for all the trouble.

“Oh, wow,” Wakano poked himself gingerly, “that feels great. My headache is entirely gone!”

“Get some rest, Wakano-san,” Tobirama said over his shoulder, moving down the hallway, “you still look kind of terrible.”

A faint “I do?” followed him into his room before he shut the door. The silence was immediately stifling and intolerable. He dragged a hand down his face in aggravation.

“Change of plans, let’s go kill bandits,” The window made for an excellent exit.

* * *

Killing bandits is easy. Sometimes too easy, he should probably feel bad about it but whatever.

Out of respect to the Sarutobi who empathically viewed most of their bandit problems as a symptom of the Daimyo’s economic bungling, Tobirama merely terrified the life out of a common highwayman into telling him which groups had resorted to worse then thievery. Stealing food and money for survival could be forgiven, taking other kinds of pleasure from accosting people was drawing a line as far he was concerned. He made sure to tip the poor guy for his trouble. By the look of his clothes he’d been a farmer up until recently.

It was getting on to evening, poorly concealed fires flickering here and there as he stealthily inspected each camp he came across. An anticipatory smile twitched at his mouth when he found one with hostages.

“Hey, Churippu.”

She rattled inquisitively.

“Since the town’s already reputed to be haunted, what say you and I do the forest too?”

She mulled it over for a long second, then she unraveled from his wrist to spool on the branch to get a better peek at the hostages. That seemed to decide it for her. She wrapped once around the branch and extended head and tail, longer than should have been possible, and wrapped around the throat of the nearest bandit and jerked him up into the trees hard and fast enough to break his neck with an audible _snap!_

Tobirama hastily wove a genjutsu to conceal himself as the whole camp erupted in chaos.

“You just threw subtle out the window!” He hissed.

Churippu rattled her tail, unrepentant.

“Oh for— fine!” He called up mist; if they were going for dramatic might as well go all out.

Under the cover of dense mist he picked off any stragglers who tried to leave, herding them back towards the fire, rolling the mist closer. Churippu stealthily slithered between them, wrapping around the fire, with one great heave she scattered the wood and doused the fire. The bandits automatically moving to pat out the burning debris that landed near them did the rest.

Tobirama rolled the mist over them with a grin.

It would be a night to remember.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Churippu is attempting to sing is Landsailor by Vienna Teng and it is amazing. Here is yonder link;  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KysI3rzmDhU


	25. Warning: household pests may be cute

 

_Tobirama rolled the mist over them with a grin._

_It would be a night to remember._

* * *

Otsuno was throwing a New Year's party, as he did every year. To hear him tell of it, it was the only time of year the Temple was full. Youkai of all kinds came from all over to visit; long time friends, members of the congregation, residents of the mountain and valley and sea that only ever showed up for the party.

This wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t drafted Tobirama to _help_.

Not to cook anything, thank gods that aren’t dragons, most of them were bringing their own food given the diversity of the guests.

Rather, Otsuno had him cleaning round the clock when he could find time to disappear without suspicion. Not even the tsukumogami had been spared from his cleaning madness. Botan _could_ disappear all day without anyone the wiser so his days leading up to January were spent in tidy misery, and even Churippu had inched along corners with a rag.

The actual party itself was amazing.

The guests began to trickle in just as dusk fell. “Omagatoki,” Otsuno explained, “is the traditional hour of the supernatural.” They brought with them barrels of alcohol, musical instruments aplenty, and bentos upon baskets upon crates of food and all manner of implements to cook them. Burly onikuma hauled up tables and chairs as little clustering kodama rearranged the peony bushes to make room for them. Shark men who looked like Hoshigaki but introduced themselves as Samebito cheerfully spread out a tuna almost as big as Tobirama.

“But the Hoshigaki are our cousins!” Manoto the Samebito said, “They live in the Ningenkai ‘cause they’re a lot more warlike than us.”

Bakemono of all stripes with forms that flickered when you looked from the corner of your eye. Thin, mysterious hone-onna bedecked in dangling beads already swaying to the sound of pipes and shamisen and erhu. A trio of serene women with the lively hair of futakuchi-onna, a dozen wandering kappa with old, turtle faces, and more tsukumogami than you could shake a stick at.

It was a lively night.

Tobirama played dice games with umbrella men, their single eye glowing under their rice paper hoods as they offered bets beyond mortal means. He answered their bets with riddles and the dragon’s beard candy still kept fresh in a storage scroll, and they all kept their teeth behind smiles.

Let himself be coaxed by a kitsune and a heckling biwa-bokuboku into showing off what he knew of playing the koto, playing _The Blade of Gu-Qin_ and _Wen-Yen’s Dance of Arrows_ , the only songs he can play without mangling. Swaying good naturedly to the beat when they showed him up effortlessly, the biwa-bokuboku playing himself and the kitsune reclaiming the koto with his hands and beating hand drums with his five tails.

Tested his knife skills against the futakuchi-onna in a mid-air fruit cutting competition, they trounced him gleefully by virtue of their hair and gobbled the fruit at record speed when it turned into an impromptu food fight. They drowned their losses in dandelion wine and tried again with increasing sloppy results.

And the Samebito handed him a plate loaded with tuna sashimi and octopus skewers and steaming crustaceans still dripping juices every time he wandered even vaguely close. Otsuno rolled his eyes more than once at their antics, muttering about suck-ups under his breath.

The real treat came at midnight when the hone-onna cleared a space for fireworks. Tobirama had never seen fireworks before; they were too bright and noisy for shinobi to use, they’d give your location away in a heartbeat. While civilians did use them for celebrations, the civilians living in Senju territory were farmers, and not fond of fire near their crops in the slightest.

Botan pulled him to the front steps where there was a clear view, eyes squinting in happiness at every bright flare that boomed open and left artful trails of smoke in its wake. There were rings and starbursts and fire flowers of every color, red, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The thunderous noise blended into the drums, thumping in his sternum like a heartbeat that rattled in his bones.

It was enthralling.

After the fireworks ended was like coming down from a high, heavy with almost childish disappointment.

As much as Tobirama would like to cuddle up on Botan and pass out he had a duty to his teacher to help with the guests.

The onikuma and kodama had homes close by and most were sober enough —or sober _ing_ enough— to make it back themselves. Drunken kodama were very funny, he decided, their bodies were somewhere between plush and slime and you could stick them under peony bushes and watch them turn into sleepy blobs. The rest of the guests had rooms in the Temple to use.

With...one exception.

“No, no, no! Jukou, we talked about this, no household pests!” Otsuno exclaimed, waving exasperatedly at the gnomish man trying to hide a long, white, furry... _thing_ behind his back.

“Aw, Otsuno-sama, I couldn’t just leave him out the cold like that,” Jukou protested, almost losing his grip on the— pipe-fox? Was that a pipe-fox? Tobirama drew closer curiously. “He was all alone and lonely and—”

“And he was eating you out of house and home, wasn’t he?” Otsuno interjected, crossing his arms and tapping his foot pointedly.

Jukou glanced around the hall, “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about. The pantries here are well stocked.”

Otsuno pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I have to say it, Jukou?” He gritted, “You don’t live here!”

“I could be!” Jukou waved indignantly, letting go of the pipe-fox that opted to perch on his head.

“Hello! Hello!” The little fox chirped.

Otsuno stared at it, aghast. “Kami on the mountain; he _talks_.”

“I’ve been teachin’ ‘im,” Jukou nodded sagely. “He still hasn’t figured out pronouns though.”

“Hello!” The pipe-fox chirped again, “Am Izuna!”

Tobirama clapped a hand over his mouth lest he laugh out loud. Of all the puns…

“You...” Otsuno began tentatively, “are Izuna, or your...name is Izuna?” One could never be too certain when a species designation could also double as a personal title.

The pipe-fox scrunched his tiny face hard in thought, then popped back up cheery as ever. “Am Izuna!”

“It’s both,” Jukou decided to take mercy on Otsuno, “Izuna’s easier on the tongue than pipe-fox, or kudagitsune. Just my luck he figures it’s his name too and won’t answer to anything else.”

“Am multiply!” Izuna chirped, and Otsuno actually flung himself back. Jukou looked alarmed and tried to reach around his bulbous head to grab the fox, all but dancing in place.

“No you don’t!” Otsuno exclaimed, but it was too late. The pipe-fox began glowing, a tiny growl building up in his throat.

In a fit of bad judgment that Tobirama is firmly blaming on the alcohol, Tobirama stepped forward and plucked the little fox up. The light immediately died down and the little guy drooped.

“Aww,” Izuna sniffed sadly, “Didn’t multiply.”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities later,” He reassured him, strangely charmed.

“What? No!” Otsuno jerked, “Absolutely not!”

Tobirama frowned, “But Shishou—”

“No!” Otsuno jabbed a finger at him, “You think I don’t know where this is going? You want a pet but you're never here to take care of him, so I have to instead, so I end up having a pet I don’t want and you have a furry thing to pat on occasion!”

Tobirama stared at him for long enough to edge into awkward, not beseechingly, just patient.

Otsuno slumped. “Fine.” he dragged a hand down his face. “Pipe-foxes are _household pests_ , do you hear me? They eat everything and multiply and eat more. It’s a mess.” He moaned. “I’m going to regret this so much.”

Jukou patted his knee consolingly, “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Otsuno growled under his breath, “Jukou, I can still take a broom to you.”

Tobirama was already walking away. It was late and he wanted to sleep now that the last of guests had been seen to.

“Welcome to your new home, I guess,” Tobirama patted Izuna’s tiny furry head.

Izuna blinked little black eyes, “Home?”

“Home,” Tobirama nodded.

Izuna cheered, “Yay!”

 

 


	26. Flowers in adversity

 

_“Home,” Tobirama nodded._

_Izuna cheered, “Yay!”_

* * *

“Against my better judgment I’m giving you another mission,” his father announced, giving him an unimpressed glower over his paperwork. “Try not to get carried away. Again.”

Tobirama resisted the urge to scowl, accepting the mission scroll. “The Sarutobi suggested it was a bandit problem. I took care of the bandits.” Which was true, even if they were completely unrelated statements.

“You convinced the entire south region of their territory it was haunted, is what you did.” Butsuma pulled a report in front of him and started writing notes in the margins, unconcerned.

“You thought it was funny,” Tobirama grumbled, opening the scroll to read his mission criteria. So he and Churippu got a little carried away, it wasn’t like those bandits didn’t need to be dealt with, they had hostages and unsavory reputations anyway.

“Mhm, right up until the Sarutobi threw a fit at us. Now I'm mad until they're not.” Butsuma glanced up. “Shoo. Or I’ll reconsider letting Hashirama chaperone this mission.”

Tobirama didn’t need a second warning. He bolted. Politely.

Having Hashirama chaperone his missions was a fate worse than death.

“And Tobirama?”

He halted, hand on the door.

“Yes, Father?”

“This one has an unsavoury feel to it.”

“I understand.”

* * *

Lord Inoue Hiroto had sent a request to the Senju for a bodyguard and tracker. According to the missive, a group of mercenaries had been hired to kill him but had so far been repelled by Lord Inoue’s guards. Unluckily, said mercenaries shook off every tail that tried to pursue them. Hence, Tobirama.

Tobirama scowled as the guards escorted him to Lord Inoue’s office, already finding it slightly suspicious. Who went to the trouble of hiring assassins to off some Lord but didn’t hire shinobi? Sure, assassination missions could be expensive as hell, but only for the Noble clans. The smaller clans were much cheaper to hire with around the same level of quality.

Lord Inoue’s office reflected his personality; bare and austere. The man himself wore an unpleasant expression that seemed carved into the lines of his face, matched in severity only by his stiff, black kariginu. He offered neither a seat nor refreshment.

“You are aware of your purpose here?” Inoue asked stiffly.

Tobirama kept his face schooled into neutrality, Lord Inoue seemed the intolerant type and that was trouble enough to deal with on top of this mission. He nodded in response to the question.

“Good,” Inoue gestured to the guard who’d stayed in the room, “you will liaise with Abe for any information or equipment. A room in the barracks has been prepared for you.” Inoue leaned forward, unpleasant expression deepening. “I’m sure I don’t need to emphasize that outside reporting your progress I am not to see you, do I?”

 Tobirama bowed with _exact_ politeness, one Noble scion to another, no more no less. If he spoke something unspeakably rude would fall out, he wasn’t keen on finding out if he’d regret it or not.

Lord Inoue dismissed them and Tobirama followed Abe through the halls toward the guard barracks. He could tell he was making Abe nervous but he didn’t care, he was too busy tamping down his temper. Gods, he hated dealing with civilians sometimes.

He angry stride slowed when he felt a pair of youkai signatures in his periphery and moving closer. A moment later a familiar head of slick black hair poked around the corner up ahead and a _very_ familiar voice cried out in excitement.

“Tobi!” Junko fairly danced down the hallway, pulling her sister along by the hand, “It is you!”

Aiko waved enthusiastically, “I didn’t think we’d ever see you again!”

Tobirama carefully didn’t move. No need to let predators know when they’ve cornered you, right?

“Please don’t call me Tobi,” he said instead, “it’s inappropriate.”

“Oh,” Junko drawled, turning to Aiko, “Tobi’s on the job. We’ve gotta be _professional_.”

They dissolved into giggles, the light of mischief in their eyes. Tobirama restrained a sigh, it seemed his near future was destined for one aggravation after the other.

“My Ladies,” Abe interjected sharply, “you shouldn’t associate yourselves with one such as this. He has a job to do.” He glanced quickly at Tobirama, gaze darting away with a nervous distaste that he could almost _smell._

Junko’s face tightened imperceptibly, and Aiko smoothes down her skirt with an absent smile. Tobirama took a deep, careful breath, shifting to clasp his hands behind his back. So it was to be this, was it.

“One such as this?” Junko inquired brightly, smiling wide enough to flash teeth. “I’m not sure what you mean guardsmen Abe. The Senju are a Noble clan, older than our own even. It would be ill-mannered of us not to greet him in our home.”

“Especially when he’s here to protect our Lord Father,” Aiko added, twirling a lock of hair with a serene expression.

Abe shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn. Distaste and obedience warred across his face briefly before distaste won out and his expression hardened. “Nevertheless, my Ladies, Senju is inappropriate company. My Lord will not be pleased should he hear.”

Junko tilted her head and a lock of hair fell over her shoulder, like an oil slick. The corner of her mouth twitched, “Guardsmen Abe—”

“Perhaps, my Ladies,” Tobirama swiftly interjected before this could get out of hand, leaning forward conspiratorially, “guardsmen Abe was alluding to the fact I’m a boy near your age and that he, himself, doesn’t quite count as a suitable chaperone.”  He gave them a significant look, hoping they’d understand.

Aiko’s eyes widened, hand raising to cover her gasp as if such a thing would never have occurred to her. Tobirama bit down on a smirk as Abe twitched, uncertain if he was being mocked but unwilling to call it out.

Junko pursed her lips but tucked her hair back agreeably enough. “As you say, _Tobirama_.” She firmly ignored Abe’s disapproval.

“Do seek us out later,” Aiko said as they walked by. “You were such a cute companion at the Temple.”

“Aiko! Don’t call him cute!” Junko giggled. “You know boys are so sensitive about that!”

Whatever Aiko said was muffled as they turned a corner. Tobirama stepped aside when Abe made to grab his shoulder. Abe clenched his hand, frustrated, face twisted in disgust.

“You go anywhere near them and your contract is voided without pay,” Abe spat. “This way.”

Tobirama gazed at Abe’s retreating back contemplatively, keeping track of his chakra. That had been… an interesting byplay. The presence of Junko and Aiko certainly revealed a lot about Lord Inoue Hiroto and how he ran things, more than Abe could ever know. Futakuchi-onna were made from starving women, after all.

Too bad it was his job to keep Inoue alive.

The barrack Abe left him at was dark and more like a cell than anything else, the single cot thin and the blanket threadbare. He sneered contemptuously, his opinion of Inoue dropping even further. Good thing he had Botan or this would be twice as annoying.

“Father did warn me this mission was suspicious,” he murmured, sitting down on the cot and threading his fingers through Churippu’s tassel. Outside the view of humans, Churippu began rattling angrily, incensed at the treatment of _her_ person.

_/pit of worms/_

“Mm. We’re not without allies though.”

_/birds in a thornbush/_

Tobirama grimaced. If that wasn’t the truth…

 


	27. The eager court wars they cannot pay

 

_/birds in a thornbush/_

_Tobirama grimaced. If that wasn’t the truth…_

* * *

Having arrived in the morning, Tobirama had plenty of time to case the surrounding area around the Inoue mansion. The area directly surrounding the building was all cultivated gardens, a fairly sizable garden as a matter of fact, with two wells standing sentinel at either end, one was still in use while the other had gone long dry and a sort of shrine built over it. The whole yard was enclosed by trees to form a natural wall between them and the farmlands outside.

There was only one road leading in or out by horse, but dozens of routes on foot through the trees.

Tobirama gazed out at the farmlands from one of the upper branches, wondering. There wasn’t much in the way of hiding places out here, it was all open fields, not unless the farmers were actively colluding with the mercenaries to hide them in their barns. It was all well and good to be a sensor until you were somewhere new and unfamiliar with the ebb and flow of the residents, then you couldn’t pick a stranger out of a line up if your life depended on it.

Which it probably did.

Tobirama moved further back into the dense leaves when a guard patrol drew near him. He didn’t like any of the guards, they were suspicious, prejudiced sorts and Churippu projected increasingly violent thoughts at them that were really distracting.

He eased his way back around to where the shrine-well was. It was strangely comfortable in the way he’d come to associate with the Makai.

Otsuno had spent a long afternoon detailing all he knew about the side-effects of being kamikakushi once. Part of being kami-touched meant a certain amount of blindness to places where the fabric of the world was thin; liminal places. He just didn’t have the defenses a normal person had against the supernatural anymore, no voice in the back of his head that warned him when he strayed too close to something _other._

Tobirama wasn’t certain why the shrine-well was liminal, he just knew it was and it felt nice.

It also had a Junko and Aiko there, carefully replacing weather-ruined paper charms with fresh new ones.

He slipped down the tree and landed silently next to them. “No guards? It’s almost sunset.”

“The glory of man’s folly is that he brings it on himself,” Aiko winked at him, reaching up seemingly for another paper charm only to reach higher into the hollow roof of the shrine and pull out an apple.

Junko smiled, secretive and satisfied, “The gardeners are just so thoughtful, aren’t they? Tending this shrine when our duties interfere.”

“You read Wen-Yen’s philosophies?” Tobirama asked, politely not staring when their hair came alive and snatched the apples from their hands. No need to ask why the apples were there in the first place.

“Wen-Yen’s very inspirational,” Junko demurred, folding her hands daintily as apple after apple disappeared into the gaping maw on the back of her head. He mimicked her stance to let Churippu uncoil into his palms.

“I particularly like her treatises on politics, she has such fascinating views on the subject.” Apples consumed, Aiko moved to bracket Tobirama between them, reaching out to give the ichiren-bozu a teasing poke.

A slight smile tugged at his mouth, “My cousin Touka does too.”

Wen-Yen was practically a household name among shinobi; a renowned archer, philosopher, and oniwabanshu turned Daimyo’s wife, her treatises on political maneuvering, subterfuge, and assassination had been staples of his education. Touka in particular seemed to find a way to quote her in almost every conversation.

How funny, he hadn’t known it was the same for civilian Nobles too.

“But why are you out here instead of at dinner?” Tobirama asked, “The dinner bell rang not five minutes ago.”

Junko pursed her lips and Aiko frowned unhappily. “Father says women shouldn’t eat in public,” Junko said dryly. “He thinks it’s disgusting.”

“And by in public, he means in front of him,” Aiko added, lip curling contemptuously before she smoothed it out.

Oh. So that’s how it was.

“Do you want me to—?” He gestured at his sword meaningfully.

“Tobirama, please don’t interfere,” Junko said firmly. “We have our own plans in the works.”

“But we thank you for the offer!” Aiko chirped. “It just wouldn’t be appropriate at this point in time.”

Tobirama shared a long look with Churippu who seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“If you need anything…”

Junko smiled and patted his hair, “We’ll know who to ask.”

He tolerated being pat for all of two seconds before politely sidestepping her hand. “As you say.”

“And Tobi?” Aiko plucked at his sleeve, “Be careful. Father prefers kicking things when they’re already down.”

“What—?”

“Oh my, is that guardsmen Musu?” Junko remarked airily, cutting him off, “We really do need to be going now, Tobi. Can’t miss _dinner_.”

Tobirama was left at the shrine-well, feeling a little disoriented. “This place is fucked up.” He told Churippu who nodded in agreement.

* * *

It was early in the morning when the mercenaries made their appearance, so early it edged into very late at night instead. Clever of them, to show when everyone was guaranteed to be at their most exhausted and off guard.

If they weren’t dealing with a shinobi that is.

Tobirama tracked their signatures from his perch in the trees; six of them and not a bit of chakra training between them. He hopped through the branches until he was practically on top of them for a better view in the dark; four men and two women, all decked in the leathers and insignia of a dedicated mercenary group, two with crossbows, four with shields, and every one toting a wakizashi. So, not amateurs or displeased common folk then.

He grimaced, the crossbows would be problematic to deal with.

Well, no need to be quiet about it.

He dropped silently behind them and drew his sword in a low, fast sweep, catching the last two in the hamstrings. They dropped with loud cries and Tobirama rolled away as two bolts flew where he’d been standing not seconds before.

It was a flurry of battle after that, trying to get in close long enough to down them while dodging crossbow bolts.

While disarming one of his wakizashi he spun in a tight circle, gutting the swordsmen on the back swing and tossing a kunai into one of the crossbows, jamming it in the mechanisms. Unfortunately, that meant staying in one place too long and the other bowmen bounced a bolt off the edge of his faceguard, scoring a deep line through his hair. He hissed in pain, ducking and rolling and generally doing his best to be too fast or too obscured for the bowmen to get another hit.

By this time backup had arrived in the form of the guards who were toting crossbows of their own. Tobirama smirked as the bowmen went down with a bolt in the side, a smirk that was quickly wiped off when one of the last two, a woman with a sword and a spiked shield, charged the guards while the last one tried to disengage and run for the mansion.

Tobirama chased after him, launching a flying kick into the base of his spine with an audible crunch. A swift decapitation ended the poor bastard’s misery and concluded the mercenary problem once and for all. Now all that was left was—

“ _Get down!_ ”

Tobirama obeyed reflexively and the bolt that would have buried itself between his ribs instead lodged in the back of his shoulder. He staggered forwards and tripped on the dead mercenary but a hand wrapped around his uninjured arm and tugged him up and away.

“Come on, come on, _move it!_ ”

He was pulled through someone else’s shunshin and stumbled against the shrine-well, dizzy from his head injury. Churippu was rattling angrily around his wrist.

“Come on, into the well! They’re coming!” His rescuer —he was barely Tobirama’s size— tugged frantically, climbing into the well himself to leverage Tobirama’s weight.

Tobirama grabbed hold of his rescuer’s tunic and yanked him closer, trying to get a good glimpse of him in the darkness. His grip slackened in shock as the pitch black eyes of an unfamiliar Uchiha greeted him with frenetic desperation.

“What the—!”

“No time!” The Uchiha hissed. “Into the well!”

And they dropped.

 


	28. Omukade in the well is not very swell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH! DOUBLE UPDATE!

 

_“No time!” The Uchiha hissed. “Into the well!”_

_And they dropped._

* * *

Wells were terrible places to drop into, just, terrible. They were cramped, and dark, and you tended to bounce off the walls and end up nicely black and blue when you hit the bottom. Tobirama is especially never doing this again with someone else and an arrow in his shoulder.

Still, none of that stopped him from pouncing on the Uchiha and jamming a kunai under his chin.

Unluckily, the cramped conditions meant he was close enough for the Uchiha to grab hold of the bolt in his shoulder at the same time.

They stared at each other in tense, uncomfortable silence.

“This is a terrible hiding spot,” Tobirama hissed. “Now we’re trapped.”

“No we’re not,” the Uchiha hissed back. “Watch and learn, brat.” And saying such he splayed his hand on the ground and there was _cold/lifeless/void—_

And the world snapped back into place and they were still at the bottom of the well.

“Do you mind doing that again? I think I missed it,” Tobirama deadpanned.

He didn’t. He definitely knew they were in the Makai now. He just wasn’t used to still being in the same spot when he traveled between.

Or for a fellow human to be doing the traveling. Churippu was bristling with offense.

“Hey, I just saved your life!” The Uchiha exclaimed, eyes narrowed in supreme aggravation. It made him look startlingly like Izuna, if Izuna favored topknots and had chubby cheeks. A close cousin maybe? “Show some gratitude why don’t you!”

“I’ll be grateful when you stop _jerking on my shoulder!_ ” Tobirama snarled, at the utmost limits of his patience. He hadn’t slept all night, he was trapped in a well with an _Uchiha_ , his employer had turned on him, and oh yes, _there was a fucking crossbow bolt in his shoulder!_

“Then get off me!” The Uchiha slipped his grip from the bolt to his breastplate and jerked him away with surprising strength.

The sudden movement made Tobirama sway, the blood loss and pain and dwindling adrenaline finally catching up. The Uchiha had to yank him back forward when he almost fell backwards. Churippu slithered up his arm to curl around his throat worriedly.

“Shit, we gotta pull that out,” he said, settling Tobirama on his side. Which— yes, actually, they did. Tobirama had Sage chakra at his disposal, he could heal that as soon as the bolt was out. Just one little problem…

“No way! Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tobirama attempted to squirm away to no avail in the cramped space.

“How hard could it be?”

“Oh, _that_ fills me with confidence!”

One hand gripped his shoulder and the other firmly grasped the bolt. Tobirama hurriedly jammed his forearm in his mouth and bit down hard when the Uchiha began to pull. The pain is immediate and _burning_ , tears trickle down his face as he muffles a scream into his own skin.

And then it’s out and he’s bleeding profusely, limp and breathing shakily through the little aftershocks, Churippu running her tail through his hair and projecting _calm/warmth/comfort._

“I’m Osafumi, by the by,” Osafumi said, rubbing soothing circles on Tobirama’s back. “I know who you are, you’re Senju Tobirama. Junko and Aiko told me. I’ve been hanging around the Inoue mansion a long time now.”

Tobirama took a careful breath and released the ball of golden chakra he kept nestled in his core, letting it work it’s healing. He stilled when several things snapped into place at once. He’d just realized that only now could he feel Osafumi through his chakra, now that it wasn’t the middle of a battle, now that he wasn’t distracted by pain. Now that he was using Sage chakra.

He sat upright and turned a critical eye on Osafumi. He frowned.

Osafumi had no bruises from their tumble into the well. And not a scratch from Tobirama’s kunai.

“So,” he said quietly, “you’re dead?”

Osafumi rocked back on his heels with a low whistle. “Wow. Nothing escapes you huh? Like I said, I’ve been hanging around the Inoue’s place a long time now.” His expression darkened. “You’re not the first shinobi old Hiroto tried to get out of paying.”

“I see.” Tobirama said.

Then they both ducked as a rattling hiss like steam over a stack of plates passed by the top of the well.

Tobirama tugged at Osafumi’s sleeve and gestured up demandingly. Osafumi grimaced but scooched closer obligingly.

“This well’s in omukade territory,” he whispered, eyeing the top of the well worriedly. “Be real quiet, we don’t want them coming down here.”

“No shit,” Tobirama murmured. “That means we’re still trapped in here.”

“Not for long,” Osafumi insisted. “It’ll be dawn soon. They’ll sleep then.”

“Why are you helping me anyway? I’m a Senju.”

“I’m like six years older than you, brat, I don’t pick on children.”

“Why you—!”

“Shush!” Osafumi slapped a hand over Tobirama’s mouth. A hissing, rattling something was passing close again.

After a moment of silence Tobirama disentangled himself and stood up. “Right, I’m going to check if the coast is clear.” A helpful dose of chakra to cling and he was climbing up the well. Thankfully, it was as bone-dry as it’s Ningenkai counterpart so the walls weren’t slick. He hooked both hands over the lip of the well and pulled himself up, face to mandibles with a patiently waiting giant centipede.

He yelped and let go, dropping back into the well.

The omukade followed.

Osafumi shrieked. “Oh fuck! Katon—”

“ _Don’t use fire in an enclosed space you idiot!_ ” Tobirama batted at Osafumi’s hands before he could complete the jutsu.

“ _Fuck you! I don’t need to breathe!_ ”

“ _I do!_ ”

And then the omukade was on them.

There was a lot of screaming after that.

* * *

“Worst. Rescue. Ever.” Tobirama wheezed, hugging the branch he was draped on like his life depended on it.

Osafumi was shaking like a leaf, his eyes a little too wide. “Wow. That's. Uh, never happened before. Are ichiren-bozu always that. Um. Terrifying?”

Churippu rattled her tail smugly and they both flinched at the noise. It was only minutes ago that Churippu tore her way through the omukade after Tobirama and Osafumi proved to be useless in enclosed spaces.

“Yes,” Tobirama said decisively, “Churippu is _always_ terrifying.”

“Oh.”

“Thank gods it’s dawn. Let’s never do that again,” Tobirama went limp on his branch. “Right? Right.”

“Don’t fall asleep!” Osafumi yelped. “We’re still in omukade territory! Hey, are you listening to me?”

Tobirama was not, in fact, listening to him.

“Please call Botan,” Tobirama told Churippu, “We’re going to need a ride out of here, and he’s useless.”

“ _Excuse you!_ ”

Churippu nodded solemnly.

 


	29. In the valley of weeping mothers

 

_“Excuse you!”_

_Churippu nodded solemnly._

* * *

Botan showed up with an extra passenger.

“Saved the day!” Little Izuna cheered, floating in excited circles over their heads, “Found Tobi! Found Ghosty! Saved the day!”

Botan drooped into a long, exhausted sigh, wringing his hands piteously and staring mournfully at Tobirama, begging for sympathy. His longsuffering expression got longer and longer the louder Izuna cheered.

Tobirama had no sympathy to offer him; he thought little pipe-Izuna was charming and offered an arm for him to perch on. Izuna squealed happily and nuzzled his cheek, murmuring disjointed, nonsense words of appreciation. Churippu regarded him from Tobirama’s shoulder but seemed amenable enough to sharing her human perch.

“What is that.”

Osafumi had backed up against a tree, looking one wrong move away from clawing his way up it. How funny, Tobirama tilted his head, he hadn’t known you could induce that kind of panic in an Uchiha with anything less than a broken sword, a ring of explosive seals, and a jar of sake. He half-thought Osafumi would activate his sharingan right then and there.

“Don’t be rude, Uchiha,” Tobirama sniffed, “He’s just a little pipe-fox.”

“Am Izuna!” Izuna chirped in agreement.

Osafumi turned to Botan, hand outstretched in helpless bewilderment at the cooing weirdo and his _dangerous household pest._ Botan nodded sadly, and Osafumi whimpered, softly but with feeling.

 _Why me,_ he lamented. _Why this?_

Tobirama huffed, unamused by their antics. Izuna was a perfectly pleasant companion, much friendlier than his human counterpart to say the least!

Then Botan spotted the drying blood all down Tobirama’s back and that was the end of their levity. Botan refused to let him go after that, growing more spectral arms as necessary to hold him, which Tobirama certainly didn’t appreciate. He was healed, he didn’t need rest!

Churippu finally put an end to the matter with a pointed warning rattle.

“Um,” Osafumi hesitantly interjected, looking like he rather regretted rolling out of his grave this morning, “So, we gotta go...this way?”

He pointed to the nearly worn away carved stairs leading down the mountain.

Tobirama gave Botan a vicious stinkeye. “You are not carrying me down the mountain.”

* * *

Botan ended up carrying him down the mountain.

As it turned out, he may have taken care of his arrow wound, and the gash on his head, but not so much the blood loss and slight concussion. He didn’t manage more than fifty feet before vertigo nearly sent him tumbling into a tree. The adrenaline crash was hardly pleasant either.

Botan held him close and purred until he relaxed in his hold, eyelids fluttering as he fought sleep’s encroaching presence.

“Where are you leading us?” Tobirama asked at one point, keeping half his attention on the Uchiha ghost leading them down paths with the eager ‘help’ of a cheery kudagitsune.

“Sad ladies!” Izuna chirped. “Valley of sad!”

“There’s a mu-onna enclave on this side of the valley,” Osafumi sighed exasperatedly, “It’s where I live when I’m in the Makai.”

 _Mu-onna? Nothing woman?_ Tobirama muzzily tried to recall what they were and gave up when his headache got in the way. It would just be a surprise then.

“How did you become a ghost anyway, Uchiha?” He lifted his head from Botan’s plush shoulder to Churippu’s disapproval, trying to force sleep away. “You’re the first I’ve seen.”

Osafumi gave him a blank look over his shoulder.

“Why is your compound not haunted all to shit, you mean? Don’t beat around the bush, Senju, it doesn’t suit you,” Osafumi smirked bitterly.

“See, I was tactful enough not to say any of that out loud. The least you could do is not waste my effort, it discourages me from repeating it,” Tobirama just barely refrained from sticking his tongue out for good measure, he wasn’t actually four anymore.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Osafumi grimaced, batting Izuna away from landing on his head. Izuna pouted and insistently cuddled up with Tobirama instead, nosing at his fingers until he obliged with head scratches. “There’s three reasons that someone might become a ghost; lack of proper burial, revenge for unjust death, and pain too great to let go. And the first reason usually negates the last two. If there’s anything Clan shinobi do well, it’s ensuring the proper burial of our own.” Osafumi added, with a hint of pride.

“Huh,” Tobirama blinked, fascinated, “What about battlefields? We try but not every body is in suitable condition for retrieval.” _Like when it’s burned to ashes._

“No matter how much you hate your enemy, or how outnumbered, death by open battle doesn’t count as unjust.” Osafumi was leading them down paths that looked better maintained than the ones higher up in Omukade territory. “It’s like betrayal; it never comes from someone you don’t trust.”

“Not without weeks worth of infiltration and disguise work beforehand,” Tobirama agreed.

Osafumi looked disturbed at that. What? You could totally betray your enemies if they didn’t know it was you in the first place. Wait, Tobirama grimaced, was he supposed to be suggesting loopholes like that?

“Right,” Osafumi drawled, “And on that note. We’re here.”

Sure enough, around the next copse of trees was an open path that led to a village. It was eerily quiet for it’s size, populated by listless women with thousand yard stares. A shrill wail rose up from within, startling a flock of crows into flight. The wail cut off abruptly and the eerie silence settled back in like a heavy blanket in the peak of summer, stifling and uncomfortable.

“Why do you live here?” Tobirama asked disbelievingly, because this? He would avoid this.

Osafumi choked a bit at the rude question.

“For your information,” He drew himself up angrily, “my _mother_ lives here!”

Oh. Tobirama bowed his head in silent apology. Of course, mu-onna; women who lost their children to famine and war, no wonder. He shied away from wondering how many in the village were Senju, some things should be left to a later day.

Tobirama shifted uncomfortably in Botan’s hold as the women of the village murmured at their passing.

“It’s Kikuyu’s boy.”

“There’s another boy.”

“A child? He’s hurt.”

“Is it my child?”

“Is it mine?”

“Just ignore them,” Osafumi said tersely, “Act like they don’t exist and they’ll respond in kind. Mostly. I don’t know if it’s safe for you to approach them, being alive and all.”

“What about your mother, then?”

“She should be okay,” Osafumi lead them to a modest apartment on an upperfloor, bypassing the tenets inside in favour of the external stairs. “She has one of her children back.”

“Mom?” He knocked softly on the door. “Mom, I brought guests!”

A tired woman answered the door, weary grief lined her black eyes and her feathery black hair drooped in its messy bun, even her kimono was wrinkled and carelessly tied. Nevertheless, her face brightened when it fell on her son, reaching out to trace his cheek tenderly.

“You came back to me,” she breathed.

Osafumi smiled sadly, “I always come back, Mom”

“Oh,” she seemed momentarily puzzled by that, as if her children returning to her was the furthest thing she expected. “Guests?”

“Yeah, Mom, guests.” Osafumi gently took her elbow and ushered her back inside, gesturing them to follow hurriedly. “They just need a quick rest is all. They won’t be here long, promise.”

“Guests are alright,” she hummed, “I should make...tea?”

She turned dazedly to the kitchen, humming a disjointed tune.

Osafumi sighed, rubbing his neck wearily. “That’s Kikuyu, she’s a little...out of it these days.”

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama offered, not really sure what to say.

“Better than the vengeful ones, I guess,” Osafumi shrugged, “Those one’s are…” he shivered. “Enough of that. Let’s get you settled in the guest room.

Tobirama caught one last glimpse of Kikuyu blankly over pouring tea into a full cup and shivered.

 


	30. Woe betide the stray child

 

_“Better than the vengeful ones, I guess,” Osafumi shrugged, “Those one’s are…” he shivered. “Enough of that. Let’s get you settled in the guest room._

_Tobirama caught one last glimpse of Kikuyu blankly over pouring tea into a full cup and shivered._

* * *

Since an hour had passed between acquiring his head injury and arriving at Osafumi’s home, Tobirama consented to a short nap, secure in the knowledge that Botan and Churippu would keep him safe if he was too exhausted to react to threats. It seemed like only seconds between closing his eyes, and waking up to Izuna caterwauling at the top of his squeaky lungs despite Botan and Churippu’s best efforts to shut him up.

“Wake up! Wake up, Tobi!” Izuna writhed furiously in Churippu’s coils, floating up near the ceiling, firmly out of Botan’s reach. Churippu attempted to loop a beaded coil over his nose which he dodged. “Sad lady incoming! Sad lady incoming!”

“What—?” Tobirama made to sit up only for Botan to grab him with a pair of his flailing spectral arms and pull him back down. “Hey, stop that! I’m not going back to sleep—!”

“ _What is all that racket!_ ” Osafumi threw the door open with a bang, the door bouncing off the wall. “You’re disturbing my mother, what gives!”

In the ensuing, awkward silence as they all stare at each other, Izuna takes the opportunity to drop from the ceiling, Churippu still wrapped around him.

Right on Tobirama’s head.

He hissed in pain as his headache flared, and Izuna wrapped himself and Churippu around his throat like a distressed, furry noodle. “Gotta _go!_ Sad lady!”

He grabbed for them on reflex and the sudden lack of resistance meant Botan jerked him back down before his mind could catch up, Botan startled and patted at him in frantic apology. Botan’s apologetic distress, Churippu’s anger, Izuna’s urgent alarm, his headache, and the distant annoyance and bewildered distress of Osafumi and Kikuyu, it was all too much to parse through in that moment. They tangled up in his senses until he could no longer distinguish them from his own, running over his nerves like shark skin.

He had a panic attack. He wasn’t proud of it.

He came to pressed into a corner, breathing just starting to slow and chakra pulled inward. Botan sat in front of him with Izuna and Churippu in his lap, gently humming an idle tune. Osafumi had closed the door at some point, and stood, pressed against it.

Botan slowly, carefully, reached out to cradle his hands, projecting _calm/safety/I am here._

“I’m alright now,” he whispered, running fingers over Churippu and a buzzing Izuna to let them know there were no hard feelings. He was too wrung out for hard feelings.

“Tobi,” Izuna’s button black eyes were wide, “Gotta go. Sad lady coming.”

“I wouldn’t take a kudagitsune’s warning lightly, if I were you,” Osafumi gave a strained smile, “supposedly, they see the future.”

Tobirama made to respond when a chakra presence outside went from grieving to raging, and a chill went down his spine. He ignored Osafumi in favor of scrambling for his shoes and sword, conscious of whichever raging mu-onna was charging up the stairs outside the apartment building.

“The hell are you—?”

There was a loud thump from the front door, audible even from the guest room. Like someone had bodily thrown themselves at the door.

“Oh hell,” Osafumi breathed, scrabbling at the door handle, “Quick! Back door’s this way!”

Tobirama grabbed Churippu, grabbed Izuna, and grabbed Botan’s hand and followed Osafumi past the kitchen where another door stood.

A unnerving scratching sound was coming from the front door now, Kikuyu braced against it.

“A child…” Another clawed hand scratched down the door. “Is it mine? I want my child!”

“Osafumi’s my child!” Kikuyu snarled. “How dare you!”

An uncomprehending screech of rage rattled the door.

“Forget the back door,” Tobirama hissed. “Botan!”

Botan nodded, all five eyes narrowed in displeasure. He hauled Tobirama closer and there was _cold/lifeless/void_ and then they were standing in a barren crop field, immediately soaked by cold, January sleet. Tobirama hissed sharply when water found its way under the tear on the back of tunic and ran down his spine.

“What just happened?” Osafumi asked, voice faint and aggravatingly unaffected by both cold and rain.

“What do you mean, what? You know what happened,” Tobirama spat irritably. A quick look around revealed they were in one of the farms that surrounded the Inoue mansion.

“But we’re...in a different spot? I-I didn’t know you could travel to different places when you hop between, I thought you had to use liminal spaces!” Osafumi spun in place, disbelieving.

“As entertaining as your existential crisis is, there’s a bastard across the way and I’m leaving now,” Tobirama said irritably, scowling at the mud. The rain was coming down so hard the mud was splashing everywhere, all the way up to his knees and soaking his socks. Great, just, absolutely wonderful, just what he needed right now. “Botan, take Izuna, wait for us at Rishiri alright? This shouldn’t take long.”

Botan gave a sodden salute and disappeared with the little pipe-fox.

“Um…” Osafumi stared at the empty spot like it betrayed him.

Tobirama firmly ignored him, if he couldn’t be bothered to figure out his own abilities then it wasn’t Tobirama’s problem. He shunshined across the field to the ring of trees, a smidge grateful for how the sleet provided adequate cover at a distance. A sufficiently leafy spot made a good perch to examine the guard rotations. Once he had the pattern of it he shunshined to the front door.

It was with no little glee that he trailed mud, water, and blood all over the floors on his way to Inoue’s office. Let the bastard have a messy reminder; it was the merest of the consequences owed to him.

He knocked lightly on the office door, just the barest tap.

“Enter.”

He threw the door open with a vicious smirk and Inoue recoiled. Unbeknownst to Tobirama, the chill and rain had turned his pale skin bluish and his lips purple. With his soaked hair and clothes, and the bags under his eyes, he looked like a drowned thing; a spirit of lightless, breathless places come to take his due.

“Lord Inoue,” Tobirama’s smirk curved wider, showing teeth. “Forgive my tardiness. I needed to see to some...medical necessities. As you can see, I’m here to make my report. If you’re willing?”

Inoue stammered, all the color drained from his face.

“How gracious of you. I’ll start first,” Tobirama planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward, dripping water all over the papers strewn on the surface. “You’ll be pleased to know the mercenaries after you have been disposed of. You’ll be pleased to know your _diligent_ guardsmen suffered not. A. Single. Casualty. _You will be pleased_ to know this was accomplished in the timely manner of one night.” He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s discuss the matter of my paycheck.”

That seemed to rouse some kind of spine in Inoue. “Pay you? Why should I?” Inoue spat. “You were lazing over scrapes while _my_ guards were cleaning up _your_ mess. I don’t pay for such disgraceful quality, or rather the sheer lack of it I should say.”

“Scrapes, was it?” Tobirama said lightly, tilting his head. “How curious that you claim to have any knowledge of my health when you were neither there, nor did I go anywhere near your guards last night. Unless…?”

“Unless what?” Inoue scoffed. “That I’d correctly guess that a bumbling boy would get knocked about? The blood’s a bit obvious.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, giving Tobirama’s bloody tunic a once over.

“Unless your clumsy marksmen reported himself for discipline for his shit aim,” Tobirama said evenly. The bluster drained out of Inoue and slumped back in his seat. “Or did he?” Tobirama continued, tapping his fingers in a mocking staccato, “Did he have shit aim, Lord Inoue? If you have such a malicious man in your employ you should probably fire him forthwith,” his voice dropped to a snarl, “before his actions are taken as a reflection of _yours_.”

“And what can you do?” Inoue puffed up weakly. “The Senju drop in the Daimyo’s esteem by the day. He won’t listen to you. I could turn you out for a liar and he wouldn’t even blink.”

Tobirama leaned closer, letting the rage show in his face. “The Daimyo may be deep in samurai pockets, but even the samurai disdain oathbreakers. Don’t they, Lord Inoue?” he whispered, hoarse with the suppressed urge to _scream_. “You pay me what you promised or I ruin you.”

Inoue fumbled for a banknote with shaking hands. Tobirama did his best impression of Otsuno’s terrifying, not nice smile and was gratified when Inoue shuddered.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lord Inoue,” He said gleefully, and let Churippu whisk them away.

 


	31. Interlude of peach smoke and wine

 

_Inoue fumbled for a banknote with shaking hands. Tobirama did his best impression of Otsuno’s terrifying, not nice smile and was gratified when Inoue shuddered._

_“Pleasure doing business with you, Lord Inoue,” He said gleefully, and let Churippu whisk them away._

* * *

Otsuno resisted the urge to whack his stubborn little student upside the head. Tobirama had showed up on his doorstep wet, muddy, and still recovering from recent injuries. _Of course_ he’d come down with a cold, and because it was his little kitten he was talking about, _of course he was denying it._

Otsuno only had one method for dealing with stubborn teenagers determined to push it, really; push them even harder until they begged for mercy. Not the nicest, but definitely the most effective at getting the outcome he wanted. And if they ended up bedridden afterwards? Well, he could do a lot with a captive audience.

So here they were. Out collecting firewood that he was _allegedly_ low on, and only the fallen branches for bullshitted reasons of spiritual purity and not offending the kodama. Whatever, it’s not like Tobirama knew enough to call him on it. He’d learn eventually the kodama didn’t give a shit if you trimmed a couple branches off their trees. Kodama didn’t give much of a shit about anything, really. It was kind of creepy.

“We can take a break any time you like,” he called back over his shoulder, hiding amusement with long practice, “I can finish up on my own even, no problem.”

“I’m fine.”

Otsuno felt that curl of amusement grow at how nasally he sounded. Ah, the sweet sound of a lesson being learned. He had no care for the stubborn, self-destructive pride shinobi seemed to cultivate. He was going to enjoy grinding it out of the kid, but all in good time. Little steps, he reminded himself.

He looked back to find a kodama helpfully bracing a branch when the kid’s hand shook trying to pick it up. “Are you sure about that, kitten?”

Tobirama glared balefully at him only to be interrupted by a vicious sneeze, rocking where he crouched with the force of it. The kid stared at the kodama in stunned shock, the poor thing having taken the brunt of it. It patted at its bulbous head confusedly before it slowly, comically slowly, fell backwards onto the forest floor, its plush body squishing out of shape. Tobirama looked up uncertainly.

“He’s okay,” Otsuno flapped his hand dismissively. “Just ignore it, kodama are dramatic.”

A handful of kodama appeared, literally out of the woodwork, to form a ring around their fallen brethren. They linked their stubby, round hands and swayed mournfully. Tobirama was starting to look alarmed.

“...Really dramatic,” Otsuno insisted.

The kid fluttered uncertainly over what was most definitely unnecessary drama on the kodamas’ part. Honestly, he needed to stop treating little spirits like they were delicate or they’d con him for all his worth. Like right now.

A roar cut through the forest like thunder in the distance and Otsuno whirled around, head swiveling as he cast his senses out. Tobirama appeared at his elbow, pointing wordlessly. Otsuno ruffled his hair thanks, gleefully ignoring his disgruntled glare. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the kid thought it was, what with his red nose and round cheeks.

They dropped their packs of wood and cut through the forest trails, silent wraiths on red alert, hands on the hilts of their swords. They slid around a rocky outcropping, and paused, assessing. One attacker, one victim pinned down, easy enough to work with.

A shared look of understanding and then they leapt into copse.

Otsuno took one look at what they walked in on and blanched. A Crane Wife— Chidzuko, wasn’t it? —had an onikuma pinned and was already sawing off handfuls of fur. Otsuno squinted a bit, hey, that was Atsuichirou, the local brewster— no! No! Leaving. Now.

“Priest, help me!” Atsuichirou struggled in the trap keeping him pinned on his front.

Tobirama moved a half-step forward before Otsuno caught him and steered him around, “Don’t make eye-contact, we’re leaving.”

“Um,” Tobirama made to glance back.

“ _Don’t look, what did I just say!_ ” Otsuno hissed.

“Oh, fuck you too, Priest!” Atsuichirou shouted, Chidzuko giggling ominously and fit to raise chills. “See if I share my booze with you again!”

Otsuno firmly ignored him, hustling his student away post haste, he didn’t need to see this. Baldness and bad decisions, he reminded himself, baldness and bad decisions. Then he suppressed the associated memories because no, not today, not without alcohol.

“I think you just lost your supplier,” Tobirama said dryly, letting himself be escorted, which really, was just another indication of how poorly he was feeling. Otsuno frowned at the minute shivers he felt under his hands. Hm, guess his kitten was more stubborn than he thought. Damn.

“Pft! I’m perfectly capable of brewing my own wine,” Otsuno flapped a hand dismissively. “I just don’t let on that I can so Atsuichirou will do all the work for me.”

Tobirama’s expression went blank. “...Wow.”

“It’s called _delegation_ , kitten, it’s a valuable life skill,” Otsuno nodded sagely.

“Is that what you call it?” Tobirama muttered, which Otsuno also ignored. When the kid was five hundred he’d learn not to sweat the little stuff so much, like whether delegation was agreed on by all parties.

* * *

Otsuno felt a sleeping Tobirama’s forehead, pursing his lips unhappily. The boy had passed out still curled up at the kotatsu, Botan for once not protesting Tobirama sleeping on something else. He probably would have if they weren’t in the Temple. Tobirama had learned to mimic youkai chakra without any prompting from Otsuno, and it sort of worked to divert hungry youkai, but it dissolved at night. Hence, the need for Botan to hold him close to obscure his signature.

Otsuno tucked the blanket more securely around him, and cleared away the tea, deep in thought. Churippu stirred within the teapot, sleepily poking her head out.

“Ah, there you are,” he offered her a hand to perch on, “you and I, we need to have a talk.”

Churippu pointed at herself with the tip of her tail. _Who me?_

“Yes, you,” Otsuno said, flat and unimpressed. “Things aren’t adding up anymore, with kitten.”

Churippu projected innocent confusion.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Otsuno scowled. “You’re the one who spends every minute with him, you can’t not know. Before Yumeyo he couldn’t get too far from his Botan without being plagued by pests, but after? He hardly sees any. You’re holy but your presence isn’t that strong to be warding everything off. Talk. Who claimed him?”

Churippu projected stubborn denial.

“Don’t even try.” Otsuno said softly, warningly. “Unlike you, I’m old enough to remember before Natsuru was claimed. Girl was harried day and night outside her shelters. Yet my little student can wander hither and yon, unmolested. Now that just doesn’t add up, does it?”

Churippu coiled in on herself at the look on his face; displeased didn’t even cover it.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” Otsuno mused aloud. “You weren’t the only spirit he encountered around that time. I highly doubt it was the oni regardless of the scars they left him.” And didn’t that still make him seethe in fury.

“Then there was the shadow-under-the-bed,” Otsuno continued lightly, watching Churippu begin to panic, rattling urgently. “Also unlikely. It’s dead anyway.”

He pushed the kitchen door open with his shoulder, depositing the tea tray on the counter and turned his full attention on the ichiren-bozu in his grasp.

Churippu wrapped around his wrist, pleading for him to stop before it was too late. He dumped her on the counter.

“That leaves…” He trailed off, realization crashing down like cold water. It tasted of faint betrayal.

“Oh,” he said, “Uten, then? He was a dragon as suspected.” He turned away from the ichiren-bozu, leaning on the counter. “How long has he known?”

Churippu hesitantly slithered closer. _/two moons/_

“Since december?”

_Unhappy kitten/biting dragonhide/stalking away_

“Of course,” Otsuno snorted. He sagged against the counter, staring blankly out the window, feeling numb. “My own lord has rendered my solemnly given word worthless.”

Churippu had nothing to offer at that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I tried to write some happiness after the last arc but, uh, it didn't work. Forgive me?


	32. The dream that beckons forth. Or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter was like pulling teeth and I'm pretty sure it shows.

 

_“Of course,” Otsuno snorted. He sagged against the counter, staring blankly out the window, feeling numb. “My own lord has rendered my solemnly given word worthless.”_

_Churippu had nothing to offer at that._

* * *

“To Yumeyo?” Tobirama echoed. “That’s reserved for the summer. It’s only February. Why so early?”

“In light of the Akimichi and their vassal clans declaring open rebellion, the Daimyo has seen fit to demand our allegiance early in a fit of paranoia,” Butsuma grunted, stamping the paper and shoving it into the ‘done’ pile. Tobirama suppressed a growl of irritation and rearranged it neatly, again. “It will require a formal appearance.” He added, lip curled distastefully at the idea.

“So you and Brother—”

“You and I will be going to Yumeyo,” Butsuma corrected, “Hashirama will stay and mind the clan.”

“I’m perfectly capable of managing the clan for a few days,” Tobirama frowned.

Butsuma rolled his eyes, “Did I suggest otherwise? I know you can. But Hashirama is _seventeen_ , it’s about time I started transferring more duties to him. It’s not like I have much longer to live, I’m already in my forties.”

“We’ll need to pack our own food if the Diplomat’s House is as unattended as last year,” Tobirama mused, choosing to ignore the topic of his father’s impending mortality.

“I’ll leave that to you,” Butsuma said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Tobirama just barely restrained how unimpressed he is by that, eye’s narrowing. Honestly, how his father got through life only knowing how to prepare field rations was a mystery to him. It’s not like following a recipe was fuinjutsu! But fine, if that’s how he wanted to play it, Tobirama wouldn’t disappoint.

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing he was accompanying Father. Gods’ know if it was Hashirama they both would have starved together.

* * *

The guards at the Dream Gates were notably stiff but they didn’t dare be openly disrespectful to a Clan Head. Unlike Tobirama, Butsuma actually did command enough political power to make their lives miserable if crossed, however tenuous it was in these times. The Shinobi Diplomat’s House was as run down as it was last year but at least they fixed the crooked door. Seem’s the Shinobi Affairs office was at least performing the bare minimum services.

A quick scan, and Tobirama tapped a quick tempo on his breast plate. _Two Uchiha, three Hyuga._ Butsuma grunted to show he heard, expression firming.

The front hall and the common room were clear. Tobirama gestured to the kitchen with two fingers, and then up with three. Butsuma narrowed his eyes at the kitchen but in an act of supreme discipline steered them upstairs instead.

The guest bedroom designated for his use looked the same as ever, a single bed against the wall and a nightstand. All the same, he eyed the bed with a touch of apprehension that Churippu shared.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

_/peony/_

“Exactly.”

Botan was the soul of accommodation and there were myriad good reasons why they were friends despite their...rocky start.

“Tobirama.”

“Yes, Father?” Tobirama looked up, cleaning rag poised in the act of removing the grime from his armor’s grooves.

Butsuma’s eyebrows were high enough to make acquaintances with his hairline, and it was totally uncalled for in Tobirama’s opinion. He wasn’t Hashirama; of course he’d unpacked and changed out of his dirty travel clothes in record time. Butsuma had no reason to be surprised.

“You…” Butsuma pursed his lips, as if unsure how he wanted to phrase his next sentence. “You brought your bed with you.”

“I did, yes,” Tobirama glanced to Botan who was playing inanimate object. “It’s a very trustworthy bed.”

“And...what was wrong with the one provided?” Butsuma gazed meaningfully where the guest bed had been disassembled into parts and stacked against the wall. Tobirama valiantly suppressed a twitch; his kunai had ruined those screws getting them out…

“It was sabotaged last time,” Tobirama said blandly.

Butsuma blinked. “You made no mention of that in your report.”

“There were more important details to focus on,” Tobirama pointed out, laying a hand on Churippu when her _/giggles/_ threatened to translate into physical rattling.

“I...see,” Butsuma said slowly. Then he visibly elected to drop the subject. “I’ll just...leave you to finish up, then.”

“Of course.”

* * *

It was stifling in the Diplomat’s house.

Three, powerful men who all hated each other were locked in the same house with younger dependents and more than a bit of paranoia between them. For the sake of what goodwill the Daimyo had left for them, they’d each elected to stay confined to their rooms as much as possible. The atmosphere in the hall was arctic; poorly stifled killing intent rising and falling like a tide when one would get a feel of the other’s chakra and reacting automatically.

It was grating on Tobirama’s nerves like sharkskin; he couldn’t escape the suffocating anger and malice on all sides.

As midmorning waned into afternoon he slipped from their designated rooms under the excuse of making dinner, which wasn’t entirely an untruth. Unfortunately, while the kitchen was marginally freer of the oppressive atmosphere upstairs, it also contained an Izuna. And not even the one he liked.

Izuna eyed him warily from the stove where a pot of water was being coaxed to boil.

There was only one stove unit. How...shortsighted. Then again, so was the entirety of the House’s layout but that was civilian bureaucrats for you. Tobirama, personally, would not have suggested mortal enemies share a building, and he really wondered who was behind this farce and how long they lived after enacting it.

And, well, because he never could seem to help himself. “You put too much water in that pot.” He did, he could see it from here. Water that close to the rim would boil over and snuff out the fire under it, and it was a pain in the ass to light it again.

“What? No I didn’t,” Izuna blinked and crossed his arms defensively, like it wasn’t obvious he was a novice in the kitchen.

Tobirama rolled his eyes, but lightly, Izuna was on the back foot but that could change anytime. He sauntered over to the cabinets where he remembered the pots being last time, seemingly nonchalant, and rummaged around for a bigger pot. “Here, this one’s appropriate for the amount of water you have.” Half a second to brace himself and he intruded on Izuna’s space to switch out the pots, then whirled to give Izuna the most judgmental expression possible without inciting a violent response. “You’re making rice? With plain water? I suppose you also drink grass tea too.” He sniffed.

“What are you talking about?” Izuna exclaimed, flabbergasted, a twitching starting in his cheek.

“Dashi stock, Uchiha,” Tobirama drawled, rummaging through more cabinets. “It’s a thing that exists. Look here, bonito flakes, kombu seaweed, dash of mirin, you see how easy that is?” Further rummaging turned up a kettle and a box of green tea, still sealed. The kettle was washed and set on the stove without further fanfare.

“Um,” Izuna blinked, baffled by the sudden cooking lesson. This was real right? He wasn’t killing intent addled?

The cellar was disappointingly empty; it was too bad he hadn’t thought to pack vegetables, he’d only grabbed the basics. Guess there’ll be no garlic or onions. Unless…? He peeked out the kitchen back door, correctly supposing a little cooking garden had been left to run wild by the door. With...yes, just what he was looking for!

He shoved them at Izuna immediately. “You do know how you chop vegetables, right?” He poured just the right amount of exaggerated doubt and was smugly gratified when Izuna responded to the challenge despite himself. “Of course I do!” Izuna snapped, baffled but unwilling to look stupid in front of his rival.

“Did we just make ochazuke?” Izuna peered at the bowls as Tobirama poured the tea. “And there’s enough for two more bowls.” His voice shaded toward delight.

“Mhm, that’s your share,” Tobirama nodded.

“My what?”

“Thanks for your contribution towards dinner, Uchiha,” Tobirama smirked and snatched up the tray, leaving while Izuna was still processing the theft.

Truly, he made it too easy sometimes.

 


	33. The sun is up and already the day is long

 

_ “Thanks for your contribution towards dinner, Uchiha,” Tobirama smirked and snatched up the tray, leaving while Izuna was still processing the theft. _

_ Truly, he made it too easy sometimes.  _

* * *

Tobirama was up at the crack of dawn, a lingering nightmare jittering under his skin. He crawled out of the cocoon that was a sleeping Botan’s many spectral arms and blearily pulled on his formal montsuki, stuffing Churippu in a pocket as he went. Botan growled sleepily and turned over, folding in on himself, purr-snores becoming muffled.

The House was quiet and still, the ominous, angry atmosphere abating as the night wore on and nearly dormant with the coming of the morning.  _ Like hinode,  _ he thought, the sunrise banishing the evil spirits that lurked in the dark. Of course, the only harm they were expecting was from other humans so perhaps it wasn’t that useful.

There was a Hyuga in the kitchen. Tobirama peered unseeingly into the distance, then grimaced. It was the Branch Member that Hyuga Goushou and his heiress, Hiniku, brought along to attend to them.

The both of them glared suspiciously at each other when Tobirama rounded the doorway. This one, he wouldn’t dare get within arms reach like he would Izuna. The Uchiha he at least knew well enough to maneuver around when necessary.

The Hyuga narrowed his pale eyes as Tobirama set up a pot for dashi stock, hand white knuckled around the knife he was using to chop vegetables. “How curious. I wasn’t aware the Senju treated their heirs like servants.”

Really, at this hour of the morning? Two could play at that game.

“I wasn’t aware the Hyuga Main House were so coddled they can’t perform the simplest of mundane tasks,” Tobirama rebutted, setting the kettle on the stove as well. Or he would’ve if the stove hadn’t been covered in used pots. “Or the Branches for that matter.”

The Hyuga hissed under his breath in affront, “At least I do my own work, not pass off a joint effort as solely my own.”

“Are you projecting your own issues, Hyuga-san?” Tobirama shoved the used pots onto the counter, like hell he was washing them. “How sad.”

“What’s sad?” Izuna cautiously poked his head in the doorway, twitching grumpily when he immediately picked up on the hostile atmosphere. “If you’re going to kill each other can you keep the blood on the floor? Some of us still need to eat.”

The Hyuga sniffed, “I’m not sure what you’re even doing here; you have no idea what to do in a kitchen.”

Izuna’s expression went flat, “You have no idea what to do with a civilised conversation and yet you keep trying anyway.” He looked over to Tobirama in clear dismissal. “Is there any konbu left?”

“Plenty,” Tobirama nodded, both of them ignoring the Hyuga angrily loading his tray. “I’ll even share since you’ve proven not to pollute the place with your incompetence.”

The Hyuga stopped in the doorway, tray creaking from the force of his grip. Tobirama hid a mean smirk.

“Oh, my apologies, did you feel that statement applied to you, Hyuga-san?”

The Hyuga turned to show his bared teeth, mouth pulled into a grimace that vaguely resembled a smile. “Not at all,” he said. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so candid about yourself.”

“Projecting again? You should get that checked out,” Tobirama tutted, shaking his head disappointedly.

The Hyuga made to take a step forward when Izuna stepped between them, sharingan active. “Enough, both of you,” he snarled. “Do you miss the battlefield so much you’d risk your clans for a bit of blood?”

Tobirama looked away, occupying himself with straining the stock rather than admit out loud he’d gotten carried away, allowed his lingering unease to make him reckless. Jaw visibly twitching, the Hyuga also turned away, gliding up the stairs like he dearly wanted to stomp instead. Izuna deactivated his sharingan with a disgusted huff, moving to clear the counters of the mess the Hyuga left behind. Tobirama stayed very still as the Uchiha came closer to grab the pots.

“Why are you always picking fights with Hyuga?” Izuna finally broke the tense silence, tired and fed up. “I thought we were the feuding ones.”

Tobirama wasn’t going to admit to holding a grudge for the weeks of close monitoring his father insisted on after the last time a Hyuga got a look at his chakra coils. He knew it was childish and beneath him. And, well, he and Izuna knew each other too well sometimes if the look Izuna was giving him was any indication.

“I already have to spend my birthday catering to a bastard who has it out for my Clan,” Izuna breathed harshly through his nose, dumping the pots in the sink. “I will not spend it mediating every conversation you have with a Hyuga.”

“That’s not your job, Uchiha,” Tobirama pointed out mildly, leaning against the counter and shoving his hands in his pockets. One hand found Churippu, curled up and sleepy, and the other found...oh, that’s where the fan went.  _ Guess I never took it out of my pocket, _ he thought.

Izuna glared at him and Tobirama sighed through his nose.

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll try not to make this more unbearable than it already is. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Izuna said flatly. “Is the rice done yet? I’m hungry.”

“What makes you think I’m sharing?” Tobirama retorted.

“That’s the same pot we used last night, it's got four servings easily,” Izuna rolled his eyes, turning away from the sink. “I’m guessing your father’s still asleep too?”

“Mm,” Tobirama grabbed a pair of bowls and served them both, setting them on the kitchen table. He sat down and just, stared at his rice, contemplating various options. It was going to be a long day and, he really didn’t want it to start here.

He glanced up when Izuna sat down across from him and gratefully tugged his bowl closer, digging in with the relish of one who didn’t have to cook. His hand drifted back towards his pocket, thinking, maybe… But did he want to take that risk?

He sighed in silent aggravation.

“Here,” he slid the fan across the table. “Happy birthday.”

“Uh, what?” Izuna took the fan automatically and opened it, face freezing in alarm at the at the swirling seal inked on the inside. “Is this how I die?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Uchiha,” Tobirama rolled his eyes, digging his chopsticks into his food.. “It’s just a mood detector.”

“A what now?” Izuna slowly put the fan down, like if he moved too fast it would prove his suspicions true and explode.

“The sky is green,” Tobirama said boredly, hiding his amusement when the seal glowed and Izuna twitched back. “My shirt is black. You’re wearing pink hair ribbons—”

“What!” Izuna yelped, hand going to his ponytail. “Oh. It can tell when people lie?”

“It can detect when people are being knowingly deceptive by reading the fluctuations in their chakra,” Tobirama corrected. “I don’t need it. Take it.”

“Because you’re a Sensor?” Izuna curiously examined the seal, tracing a loop back to a center knot and out into another loop. “Madara does something similar. Have I mentioned how annoying that is?”

“Well, now you can cheat,” Tobirama rose to dump his empty bowl in the sink and prepare another bowl for his father. “I expect reciprocation come the nineteenth, Uchiha. I don’t give away my inventions for free.”

“Oh, yeah,” Izuna drawled, eyes widening with exaggerated realization. “You’re younger than me. I almost forgot. No wonder you’re so bratty.”

His brow twitched, “On second thought, I take it back. I hope you have a terrible birthday.”

“Aw come on, don’t be like that,” Izuna grinned, bright and teasing as any fox. “You’re only proving my point.”

“I don’t care,” Tobirama gritted. “May you be stuck eating suppon for the rest of the day. See if I try giving peace offerings to the likes of you again.” He hastily prepared a tray for his father and turned to leave.

“What do you have against eating turtle?”

“Everything!”


	34. In which there are no explosions. Make of that what you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit dialogue heavy this one. And you finally meet the Daimyo! Whoo! He came out much creepier than intended.

_“What do you have against eating turtle?”_

_“Everything!”_

* * *

 Daimyo Reizei was well versed in the art of presenting well, Tobirama would acknowledge, but to his critical eye that’s all it was. A mere presentation.

With his face smoothed by courtly expressions and powders, the layered, resplendent robes just sweeping the floor, the sword tucked in his obi with its elaborately painted sheath, and even the modest headdress over long, loose hair, it all lent itself to a grand image. It encouraged a sense of awe, a sense of some higher being that had graciously deigned to appear among the mortal masses and lend its stunning wisdom to the unworthy below.

 _It doesn’t compare to the real thing,_ was Tobirama’s immediate response. Really, nothing of human make-up could compare to the majesty of _dragons_. Surprisingly, Daimyo Reizei _could,_ in fact, sink lower in his eyes. By being a cheap imitation.

“Greetings, loyal subjects,” the Daimyo addressed them, rising from his throne as the doors were softly shut behind them. “Be privileged by our presence.” The throne room was an excellent stage for his illusion; a long hall with a colonnade running down either side, concealing the numerous servant doors in their shadows.

Tobirama exchanged a surreptitious glance with his father because, _did he really just go there?_ Butsuma’s equally well hidden distaste said yes, yes that just happened. He didn’t need to look at the Hyuga and Uchiha to know that were equally stunned by the sheer audacity. _Was the Daimyo honestly that ignorant of the contempt his shinobi subjects held him in?_

“Come, come. Do not be strangers,” the Daimyo smiled blankly when they made to kneel, hollow of true welcome. “Stand tall. Are we not united under Fire’s banner here?”

Hyuga Gouchou recovered first, laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “We are privileged indeed by your regard, Esteemed Lord,” he said cautiously. “You honor us with your...consideration.”

Reizei turned his hollow smile on him. “It is good to see our subjects as they should be.” The smile dropped, leaving his demeanor blank. “Honored.”

In of the corner of Tobirama’s vision, Tajima pressed his thumb into his little finger until both of them were pale from pressure. Butsuma wasn’t much better, the tendons standing out on his wrists from the effort of not clenching his hands into fists. Tobirama just felt numb, having picked up the dull star of Reizei’s contempt even through the doors of the throne room. Churippu kept him well distracted from the swirling miasma of unease and hatred that flowed from everyone in the room. Albeit with the most disjointed singing he’d ever been subject to.

“But come!” Reizei swept down the steps leading to his throne, “The matters to be discussed are already unpleasant enough; let us be civil, yes?” He gestured imperiously to a guard standing by a double door, nearly hidden in the shadow of a column. The guard pulled the door open and servants streamed in carrying a table and chairs and platters and tureens of steaming food. “We have had food prepared. Difficult subjects are best discussed with full stomachs, yes? Of course, yes. The cooks have imported a giant soft-shell from Rice for a most excellent suppon.”

Tobirama withheld his instinctive twitch through sheer force of will, already feeling his temper rise from Izuna’s burst of glee. Perhaps he should have accounted for spending the day with the little shit before wishing him ill. It wasn’t that he disliked the taste of turtle, it was just… How could anyone look a turtle in the eye and still want to eat it? He didn’t give two shits that he’d probably eaten weirder fish; fish were fish and turtles were turtles.

Nevertheless, he kept his manner impassive as he took his seat, suppressing another twitch when Izuna sat across from him with a smirk. Butsuma narrowed his eyes when Tajima sat across from _him_ with a challenging look. Gouchou and Hiniku settled at the end of table, determined to ignore them both.

Butsuma forced himself to look away from his most bitter enemy despite how it galled. “About the matter of the Senju’s obeisance, rest assured Esteemed Lord, we would never think to—”

“Oh no, my Lords,” Reizei fairly crooned. “Your loyalty is not in doubt! You wouldn’t be here if it were.” Tobirama frowned, that, that didn’t sound— “No, my Lords, we are here to discuss bringing the errant Akimichi Clan and their vassals back into right thought with the will of Fire. Their tantrum-throwing has gone on quite long enough, don’t you think? We have been generous in allowing them time to realize the error of their ways, yes? Of course, yes.”

Tobirama distantly noticed that at some point his hands had crept up his sleeves and his nails were biting into his forearms. Churippu was knocking against his wrist trying to get him to stop. Butsuma was dangerously still beside him, shoulders relaxing like he was preparing to spring any moment.

“How do you wish it done?” Gouchou asked, famous Hyuga poise wrapped around him like a winter cloak.

Reizei smiled cooly, pleased. It felt like a trap. “The punishment for betrayal is death is it not? We trust you will root them out to our satisfaction.”

Across the table Tajima hissed. Loudly. Contemptuously.

“Something to say?” the Daimyo inquired, delicate and silky as any spider.

Tajima leaned back in his chair, stoic and cold in the manner the Uchiha did so well, and crossed his arms. “You will plunge Fire into civil war by turning the Noble clans upon each other like this.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Gouchou sneered, chin lifting. “Is it not your dearest life’s ambition to wipe out the Senju? How strange to see you hesitating now when the Daimyo approves of it.”

“And how exactly like you to hem and haw until you have no choice but to put your pride where your mouth is and still disappoint.” Tajima said, lip curling. “Are you actually going to take to the battlefield now or do you have Branch Members to do it for you?”

Gouchou bristled, the table creaking under his grip until his daughter laid a hand on his elbow. Reizei lounged in his chair, watching them tear into each other with detached amusement, absently accepting a saucer of some kind of liquor from a servant. Times like this made Tobirama long for poisons; whether to use on himself or everyone else, he didn’t care as long as it got him away from this spectacle.

“You speak pretty words Uchiha, but he’s right,” Butsuma said, low and intent. “Are you cowering from your sworn duty to eliminate traitors to the Great Name of Fire?” Nevermind that Butsuma would’ve turned a blind eye to the Akimichi situation unless he was ordered otherwise, like now.

“I am suggesting that a four-way gang up will end in grievous losses on all sides,” Tajima said, icily, features tight. “This needs to be done intelligently.”

Butsuma smirked, “I suppose that leaves you out then.”

Tobirama very carefully did not roll his eyes, if only because Izuna was watching and a united front was key in Yumeyo. Unspoken, but simmering underneath, was the very real paranoia that the Daimyo was trying to distract them by breaking the Clans in a tide of all out war such as only the Senju and Uchiha engaged in anymore. Weakened, no longer paying attention to him, the Daimyo could sneak all kinds of things past them while they were occupied. Probably wouldn’t even need to sneak.

Uchiha Tajima could speak of civil war all he liked but the Clans were only a faction of the movers and shakers of Fire, and their influence was being eroded by rising samurai sympathies by the day. _No,_ Tobirama thought uneasily, _get the big names tied up in a mess, wait till they were reduced by the infighting, come in with the finishing blow._ Even children could manage a strategy like that.

 _/sniffing poisoned tea/_ Churippu offered, _/switching cups/_

Resting a hand on her beaded length, he projected as best he could; more accustomed to just speaking aloud. _/ever watching eyes/_

 _/boom/_ Churippu projected with a faint undercurrent of ‘duh!’

Tobirama bit down on a laugh. As far as distractions go that was kind of hit or miss. He told her as such.

_/big _boom/_ Churippu offered with no small sense of delight. _

_I thought you belonged to a monk?_ Tobirama was literally biting his lip to control his mirth now, ignoring the odd looks Izuna and Hiniku were sending him.

Just a sense of _I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about_ and _wounded-innocence_ this time. Well then, if that’s how it’s going to be.

“My... _dear_ Lords,” the Daimyo drawled, hollow smile back in place. “You forget. We are not suggesting how you deal with the Akimichi. We are _telling_ you how to deal with the Akimichi. Our will is Fire’s will. Yes? Of course, yes.”

Butsuma let out a slow breath, steady and controlled. He nodded in assent. Tajima likewise put away whatever else he had to say.

“But come!” Reizei clapped. “Not a one of you has touched your food. It will be inedible at this rate and that would be a shame. A shame, we say.”

Ah. The part he was dreading all along.

He twitched when Izuna, looking him right in the eye, shoved a large bite of turtle in his mouth with every evidence of enjoyment.

Gods, he was going to enjoy killing him one day.

 


	35. The Octopus of Non-Hostility; Because Friendship is Too Much to Ask For Yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Have some sad

 

_He twitched when Izuna, looking him right in the eye, shoved a large bite of turtle in his mouth with every evidence of enjoyment._

_Gods, he was going to enjoy killing him one day._

* * *

Tobirama ducked away from his father’s side as soon as they left the palace, feeling jittery. Butsuma glanced at him but let him leave, occupied with more immediate worries than his son’s delicate stomach where turtles were concerned. It wasn’t like he didn’t know where he was going, anyways.

He threaded Churippu’s bead through his fingers as he walked, absently murmuring the mantras for each individual bead. He was never going to be a priest like Otsuno but he didn’t mind learning the prayers. It fed Churippu and taught him mental discipline, a win-win as far as everyone was concerned

It also helped him center himself when his nerves were shot.

He growled in aggravation when a familiar _mist/fire/feather_ presence trailed behind him. Couldn’t Izuna take a fucking hint when it was shoved in his annoying face? At the very least couldn’t he be better at following a Sensor? Tobirama felt vaguely insulted that he wasn’t even doing a very good job at hiding his chakra.

Casually, careful not to let on that he spotted Izuna, he ducked down a cramped side alley. Stepping into the shadow of a stack of crates, he waited with measured breath, fingers teasing a kunai out his sleeve. His eyes narrowed as his target drew closer.

Izuna had a split second to react before Tobirama was on him, drawing a kunai of his own. He met the first blow in a scatter of sparks, spun under the second one, and managed to hook Tobirama’s kunai with his own and rip it from his grip on the third. Tobirama grabbed his wrist and went in for a series of brutal blows that Izuna took the brunt of on his forearm with a grunt.

Once, Hashirama had complained that Tobirama approached taijutsu like he wanted to rip his opponent’s limbs off and beat them with the bloody end.

He wasn’t altogether wrong.

Izuna let himself drop backwards and Tobirama had to leap upwards lest Izuna tangle his stance. Izuna took the opportunity to free himself and back away, panting, eyes flickering black and red. Tobirama flexed his now sore knuckles and regarded the Uchiha with predatory consideration.

“Lost, Uchiha?” Tobirama tilted his head mockingly.

“I could ask you the same,” Izuna very carefully didn’t take his eyes off him as he backed up further. “For someone so sick you sure haven’t lost your touch,” he added.

Tobirama twitched. “Who said I was sick?” He asked softly, warningly.

Izuna narrowed his eyes, shoulders tensing. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the Hyuga? They seem pretty certain your days on the battlefield are numbered.”

“The Hyuga don’t know shit about me,” Tobirama sneered. Not this shit again.

“Yes, and you turning green and refusing to eat dinner is such a convincing argument for your health,” Izuna drawled sarcastically. “Truly, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Tobirama was about to retort something scathing when his stomach picked that moment to do it for him, rumbling loudly. They stared at each other in uncertain silence before Izuna snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth. Tobirama fumed, fingers itching for another kunai as Izuna lost a battle with his dignity and dissolved into helpless giggles.

“Up yours, Uchiha,” he snarled, roughly shoving past. He scooped up his fallen kunai and stomped out the alley way, merging with the evening crowd. His scowl deepened when Izuna trotted up next to him, still grinning.

“So where are you off to?” Izuna darted a quick poke at Tobirama’s side and nearly lost the finger for his boldness.

“The markets,” Tobirama gritted, brow twitching.

“Aren’t they closed at this hour?” Izuna asked, sidestepping a passing cart that veered too close.

Tobirama scoffed, “Commerce doesn’t sleep.” He turned another street corner. “The day market’s closed, the night market’s still going. At this time the restaurants that close early are selling off their perishables that didn’t get used today in favor of fresher shipments from tomorrow’s day market.” He arched a brow at Izuna’s bafflement. “Don’t you know anything about this city’s nightlife?”

“Why do you?” Izuna’s face twisted into a suspicious squint.

“My first solo trip here there was a really annoying Uchiha. I didn’t feel like dealing with him,” Tobirama deadpanned. He sped up while Izuna was still sputtering his indignation, the first stalls of the market coming into view. He ignored the sulking Uchiha as he followed his nose unerringly to the nearest seafood stall.

Coin purse lighter but a bag of baby octopus much happier, Tobirama lead them deeper into the maze of stalls to where the rentable kitchen stalls were. Another couple coins to the proprietor of the station bought him a small cube of lard, a little jug of chicken bone broth, and access to a stove with a skillet.

“Turtle grosses you out, but you’ll eat octopus, really?” Izuna said dryly, yet watching with rapt attention as Tobirama ran the lard all around the hot skillet with a long pair of chopsticks until the lard was mostly fried and the skillet sizzling.

“My personal tastes are none of your business,” Tobirama replied, dumping the bag of baby octopus in to fry.

“I can see its _eyes,_ ” Izuna scrunched his face in comical disgust. “I thought you just ate the tentacles. You just threw them in there whole. _Gross_.”

“Oh, grow up,” Tobirama rolled his eyes. “You’ve eaten takoyaki haven’t you? It’s not that different.” Satisfied by the sear emerging on the octopus he dumped in the broth, turning his face away from the sudden upsurge of steam.

“Uh, yes it is!” Izuna insisted, inching away from the stove. “I wasn’t eating _eyes._ ”

Tobirama considered that, keeping Izuna in the corner of his eye. “Is that taboo in your Clan?” That was...unexpected, but not incomprehensible. For people who so revered their eyes, eating them might be disturbing on some fundamental level.

“Let’s just say we reserve it for religious reasons and leave it at that,” Izuna said, sitting on the short bench off to the side. It was actually meant for ingredients, not for sitting, and you could get in trouble with the proprietor for doing that. He briefly toyed with the idea of warning Izuna before dismissing it in lieu of the potential entertainment should the Uchiha get caught.

They fell into an almost comfortable silence, broken only by the sizzle of the skillet as Tobirama shift his octopus around so they cooked evenly.

“My youngest brother loved turtles,” Tobirama said cautiously, fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders. Only the fact Kawarama hadn’t been killed by Uchiha allowed him to speak of this at all in his present company. “He was always sneaking out to the rice fields to look for them. Drove the farmers mad.” A faint grin tugged at his mouth at the memory. “He cried if you so much as suggested turtle might be on the menu. After his… I just can’t eat them anymore.”

He ignored Izuna’s intent stare in favour of plating up his octopus, settling on the benches actually intended for that purpose. Izuna drifted over, facing the opposite direction as Tobirama stuffed an octopus in his mouth whole.

“My eldest brother hasn’t come home,” Izuna said, leaning to bump shoulders. “Not Madara, our eldest brother. We have no idea what happened to him, whether he’s alive or not. He left on some mission—must have been like six years ago now—for some civilian Noble. I don’t rightly remember the name; Ine or Inoue or something like that.” Tobirama stiffened, eyes widening. “What?” Izuna asked, voice shading towards suspicion.

“Nothing,” Tobirama murmured. “It’s just, I met a Lord Inoue.”

“Oh?” Izuna couldn’t quite conceal his painful hope. Tobirama felt a bit of remorse for having to dash it.

“Mm, he’s an asshole,” Tobirama said, then stuffed another octopus in his mouth before anything incriminating could slip out.

“Figures,” Izuna muttered.

Tobirama took a breath, steeling himself for his next words. “You know he’s dead, right?”

Izuna twisted, snarling, “How dare—!”

“He would have come home otherwise!” Tobirama said quickly. He took no satisfaction when the wind went right out of Izuna’s sails, slumping back against his shoulder. “He’s an Uchiha; nothing would have kept him from coming home as long as he were alive.”

“Yeah, I know,” Izuna said, shaking minutely, hands clenched on the edge of the bench until the wood creaked. “I just, I wish we had a body to bury.”

Tobirama shift to accommodate Izuna more comfortably. In his head he was already composing a letter to Junko and Aiko. It wasn’t too late to rent a messenger hawk was it?

Osafumi saved him from the same fate that struck the Uchiha down, he owed him this.


	36. What we lose to fire

 

_Tobirama shift to accommodate Izuna more comfortably. In his head he was already composing a letter to Junko and Aiko. It wasn’t too late to rent a messenger hawk was it?_

_Osafumi saved him from the same fate that struck the Uchiha down, he owed him this._

* * *

They weren’t even halfway to the post office when Izuna froze, gazing into the distant horizon with growing alarm. Whatever he saw had him activating his sharingan, instantly putting Tobirama on edge.

“Do you see that?” He pointed at...something Tobirama most certainly didn’t see. An empty patch of night sky illuminated by lanterns as far as he could tell. “It’s coming from the Royal Quarter!”

“Uchiha, I don’t see anything,” Tobirama growled, “Speak clearly!”

“There’s smoke,” Izuna said impatiently. “A lot of it.” He went up on tiptoes, made a sound of frustration, and shimmied up the nearest wall for a better view. Tobirama cast a cautious glance around and followed him. He still didn’t see what Izuna was pointing at.

Izuna was bouncing in place on his toes on the roof peak, hands cupped around his eyes. “The Diplomat’s House is on fire!” He announced.

“What?”

Tobirama didn’t wait. He bolted, heart pounding in his ears the whole way. He didn’t bother with the streets, he leapt the rooftops rather than deal with civilian foot traffic. He didn’t doubt Botan’s ability to survive for one second but his father was a lot more vulnerable. What kind of condition was he in that someone could set fire to their current residence? He didn’t _feel_ any fighting earlier!

He practically skidded into the Royal Quarter, Izuna still a third of the way behind him. Sure enough, the old blue House was completely on fire and looked to have been that way for quite some time. The windows were blown out, the paint had blackened and bubbled all over, fire billowed out of every opening in great roaring bursts of heat and light. Even as he watched a portion of the roof collapsed inward with a loud creaking groan of defeat and a bright shower of sparks.

A whole squad of firefighters were tirelessly carting buckets about but they seemed more interesting in keeping the fire contained than putting it out. The heat could be felt even from where he stood, it was definitely too dangerous to approach at this point.

Butsuma watched the whole affair from a safe distance, standing by Tajima with his arms crossed, visibly displeased. Goushou had cornered a man in a firefighter’s uniform with a sash of rank, looking on the verge of completely losing his temper. The firefighter looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, blanching anew whenever Goushou gestured. Hiniku was pale at his side.

As always, Tobirama reported to his father first.

“They are trying to pin this on the Akimichi,” his father greeted him, heavy gaze never leaving the fire. “They may well succeed.”

“Evidence?” Tobirama pressed. It would be bold indeed for the Akimichi to do this when they were already in such a precarious position. If they’d done it at all.

“The Hyuga servant didn’t make it out. He’s a trained shinobi, they would have had to kill him to pull this off.”

Tajima snorted, “I see you are as ignorant as you’ve always been.”

“Something to say Uchiha?” Butsuma asked, voice tight.

Tobirama exchanged cautious glances with Izuna who had joined his father’s side.

Tajima lifted his chin, “You underestimate the dangers of smoke inhalation. Goushou reported his servant to be in his bed. Many a trained warrior has suffocated in their sleep long before they ever felt the heat. That’s what really kills you when you’re trapped with a fire in an enclosed space, that and the heat cooking your lungs.”

“That doesn’t preclude the Akimichi being involved,” Butsuma shot back. “You said yourself that the fire clearly originated from their wing of the House. It would take a shinobi to sneak past a Hyuga, even a sleeping one.”

“That’s too obvious!” Tajima snarled. “No shinobi of their caliber— with the aid of the Nara and Yamanaka no less! —would incriminate themselves so foolishly. And to strike, not at the Daimyo they spited, but us? When we weren’t even in the building? It’s stupidity.”

“A rare moment when the Heads of the Great Clans and their heirs are all in one place? They would be fools not to consider us a choice target.” Butsuma turned to better face Tajima, leaning into his space. “Logic would have led them to conclude the Daimyo would send us after them. Send shinobi to catch shinobi. What better way to throw us off their trail then to launch our Clans into an early succession crisis?”

Tajima snarled, fist clenching, “ _We weren’t even in the building._ Think, you fool! This is not an assassination attempt, it’s a warning shot at best! And for what? We just received the orders today. Even if they had an agent here who took it upon themselves to act independently the rest of their forces are yet still ignorant.”

Butsuma rocked back on his heels, suddenly calm. “Then it is agreed. There is a third party at work here.”

Tobirama blinked, baffled by the sudden turn. He caught Izuna’s eye. _What just happened?_ Izuna shrugged back, just as confused.

“Of course there is,” Tajima said, relaxing. “I just said so, didn’t I? Clearly, we were set up to lose our tempers at a target.”

“It’s very clumsy,” Butsuma tilted his head thoughtfully. “The Hyuga might buy it. It’s personal for them now.”

“Certainly,” Tajima agreed mildly. “Shall we go see what the Minister has in the way of alternate accommodations for us?”

“Likely nothing but I suppose watching him scramble will be mildly entertaining,” Butsuma scoffed. “Boys. Make yourselves useful while we distract them.”

“Do not tell my son what to do, you oaf,” Tajima snapped. Then he cast at a glance at them, “There better be a report waiting for us when we get back or so help you, you’ll be running laps until dawn.”

“Oh, now who’s overstepping his bounds?” Butsuma growled as the left, the both of them still sniping at each other until their voices faded from hearing.

Tobirama and Izuna were left in awkward, slightly disbelieving silence.

“I’m not obeying your father,” Izuna said, looking determined. “I’m obeying my father who expects a report later.”

“Agreed,” Tobirama nodded. “Your father has no authority over me either.”

“Um,where do we start?” Izuna bit his lip. “I think it’s safe to say any evidence in there,” he nodded to the flaming Diplomat’s House, “is inaccessible at the moment.”

Tobirama eyed the tongue of flame shooting out of the collapsed roof. “If there’s anything left of it once the fire dies.” He made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Strange how it grew so big so close to the palace. You’d think one of the patrols would have noticed.”

“The arsonist would have had to approach from the ground too,” Izuna murmured absently back, almost more to himself. “The building’s too isolated to jump to for a human. They would have been in plain sight for the patrols to see.”

Tobirama wrapped an arm around himself and cradled his chin with the other. “So a Summons, or—”

“Someone with permission to be here!” Izuna finished, double tomoe spinning in excitement. “That definitely would have gotten them past the Hyuga. And the only one authorized to allow people near _our_ political quarters is—”

“The Minister of Shinobi Affairs,” Tobirama scowled, hand dropping from his chin to cross his arms. Izuna grinned at him, perfectly bloodthirsty.

“I think,” he drawled, “we should go...poke around his office while our fathers are...seeking his business.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully, red eyes bright like fresh blood.

“Those aren’t dramatic pauses,” Tobirama couldn’t help but point out. “I don’t know why you’re doing that.”

“Damn it, Senju!” Izuna stomped his foot, all his earlier theatricality dissipating like mist until he was normal again. “Learn to adhere to the drama of the moment!”

“Why were you trying to use euphemisms anyway?” Tobirama asked, firmly ignoring his sulking. “We both know where this is going to go, why bother beating around the bush?”

“Shh!” Izuna slapped a hand to Tobirama’s mouth, then hastily retracted it when he felt teeth. “Someone could be listening!”

Tobirama looked at him flatly.

“Oh, right. Sensor.”

 


	37. Who speaks to the trees

 

_ Tobirama looked at him flatly.  _

_ “Oh, right. Sensor.”  _

* * *

Sasaki Nori’s office had been redecorated since Tobirama had seen it last, almost unrecognizable if not for the location and the bureaucrats faint chakra traces. The walls had been painted lavender, a scroll had been hung on the wall and there in the corner by the window, on its own stand, was a crabapple bonsai. And peeking out of the branches was an equally tiny kodama who shyly hid behind the trunk.

Tobirama manfully resisted the urge to coo and occupied himself with knocking on the walls, checking for hollow spots, while Izuna did the tedious work of shifting through the paperwork. Having ascertained that Sasaki was boring and did not have secret compartments in his walls or floor he drifted over to the desk and started feeling for seams.

Izuna made a thoughtful noise from behind the stacks, “Found the maintenance reports on the House, all very boring and dry. Also, way overdue. What does this guy do all day, pick his nose?”

“You’ve seen how little he cares for his duties,” Tobirama retorted mildly. Since the desk was boringly devoid of secret nooks too Tobirama stood to assist with the shifting when an idea came to him. He glanced back at the bonsai where the kodama was peeking at him only to startle and fall out of the branches.

He bit his lip, trying not to laugh, and went to go poke them back upright. The kodama clung to his fingers with plushy arms, nuzzling. He flicked a finger gently into their round stomach and it drew back to wobble indignantly.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, gathering a small bit of chakra at the end of his finger. The kodama turned its gaping sockets to it, instantly mesmerized. “You see that? You can have it if you answer my questions.”

It tilted its head, then bobbled agreement.

“Thank you,” Tobirama let the corner of his mouth crook into a smile. “How long have you been here?”

The kodama squished itself back against his hand, nuzzling his palm.  _ /harvest/ _

Tobirama frowned, “Since late summer?” If he’s remembering crabapple fruiting cycles correctly, and he should. Thieving from the orchards is a time honored practice for little Senju practicing their skills.

The kodama nodded.

“Hmm,” Tobirama considered his next questions carefully. “Do a lot of people—humans, I mean, come to this office?” 

The kodama bobbled a no.

Oh, that had promise. “Do you remember what happened the times they did?”

A positive bobble.

“Can you show me?” Tobirama breathed, other hand coming up to cradle the little spirit. 

In between one breath and the next, Tobirama lost himself in the kodama’s inscrutable, gaping sockets. The air turned to haze and dissolved around him into day, then night, then day again too quickly to keep track of, sunlight flashing and blinding, spots dancing in his vision. The memories slowed long enough to catch a glimpse of servants bringing meals, couriers bringing messages, fellow administers bringing paperwork, moving inhumanly fast.

Day, then night, then day again. Sunlight. Moonlight. Sasaki at the desk, Sasaki pacing, Sasaki letting a figure shadowed by the setting sun through the window—

“Wait!” Tobirama gasped, still of enough mind to keep it quiet. He thinks he can still hear rustling paper if he concentrates but it’s so hard, dancing tantalizingly out of reach. As bad as any sharingan illusion when the perpetrator was too confident in its unbreakability to bother making it a total immersion.

The memory slows, abrupt normality nearly as dizzying.

Shock tingles on the edges of his awareness, pushed to the side in favor of examining the figure crouched in the window, larger than life from the kodama’s perspective. An oniwaban, one of the Daimyo’s own private spies or he’d eat his sword. 

The exchange was completely silent. A folded note was handed over and the oniwaban leapt up and out of sight. Sasaki scanned the note, brow rising to greet his hairline. He looked out the window furtively, tucking the note into his robes and returning to his desk to grab a handful of papers, smoothing out his mustache to look a semblance of calm as he left the office.

After that the memories sped by with no other suspicious encounters, not that oniwaban usually flouted themselves so obviously.

Save for the Daimyo’s own couriers—

Churippu digging her tail under his skin knocked him back to the present, hands still cupped around the now bloated kodama eagerly suckling chakra from his finger, legs beginning to tremble. Angrily, he pulled it off by the scruff, dropping it in its pot where it flopped on its back and wriggled its limbs like an overturned beetle. 

Churippu retracted her tail with a furious rattle, leaving inexplicably unharmed skin.  _ /Thief!/ _

The kodama sank into the soil, leaving only its head poked out.  _ /Hungry/ _

“I didn’t say you could drain me dry!” Tobirama hissed quietly, ever conscious of Izuna being in the room. Glaring furiously, a fresh migraine growing behind his eyes, he whirled around and stomped back to the desk.

“Gonna help?” Izuna asked irritably.

“Impatient,” he chided, trying to ignore how his knees wanted to buckle. Shit, how much had it eaten while he was distracted?

Izuna scowled and shoved a stack of papers at him, “While you’ve been fawning over trees I’ve been digging up reports. No less than seven people have been authorised to enter the House in the last week. Seven!”

“I wonder how many were oniwaban?” Tobirama mused. Izuna choked. 

“Oniwaban?” He croaked, eyes wide. “Are you saying the—” His mouth snapped shut, like the very person they were talking about might hear if he said it aloud.

Tobirama went to reply only to pause, head cocked, eyes unseeing. Three floors above them a chakra signature started creeping down, slowly and carefully. He pursed his lips, calculated space and angles, and concluded someone was climbing down the wall and heading in their direction. Signature; unfamiliar.

“Time to put your pride where your mouth is, Uchiha,” Tobirama said grimly. “We have incoming. Window. Five minutes. Can you put everything back the way you found it?”

“I can do you one better,” Izuna said, rapidly reshuffling paperwork with brisk efficiency. “I’ll make the room look like we were never here.”

Tobirama hurried around the desk and crawled up the wall with the window until he was scrunched in a corner, weaving a genjutsu to make eyes slide right over him. Izuna finished with the paper, planted one foot on the desk and leaped up, flipping smoothly to stand on the ceiling. Tobirama rolled his eyes, then quickly closed them when Izuna turned to face the window, sharingan bright and spinning.

Tense seconds ticked by, winding tighter, when a short tap came from the window. He couldn’t see what was happening but he felt the spike of chakra coming from Izuna and unfamiliar breathing entering the room. And wasn’t that comforting, knowing the windows opened from the outside. Surely, it couldn’t be all the windows? 

He cautiously peeked through his lashes, watching the masked oniwaban pull out the desk chair and settle herself in. She felt...blank. He’d heard from older cousins that the Daimyo recruited only first generation chakra users for his oniwabanshuu, to better ensure singular loyalty. Clanless chakra had such a strange texture, not like a blank canvas, more like tea so weak you couldn’t quite discern the flavor.

He glanced at Izuna, now crouched, who was staring hard at the oniwaban, hands in the ram sign. Gently, balanced on fingertips and toes, Tobirama crawled along the ceiling to the Uchiha’s side. A poke had Izuna tilting his head ever so slightly in his direction, just a sliver of his attention. Wordlessly, Tobirama pointed to the door, gesturing for another incoming. Izuna’s brow furrowed in confusion and Tobirama scowled back.

It figures the Uchiha used different signs.

Too late, the door was sliding open, and Sasaki Nori was sweeping in, robes aflutter. He visibly gulped at the sight of the oniwaban sitting behind his desk, painted mask tilting this way and that like a curious bird.

“Nori-sama.” Another tilt. 

“His Esteemed Lordship is displeased.”

 


	38. They who roll the bones wipe blood from their blades

 

_“Nori-sama.” Another tilt._

_“His Esteemed Lordship is displeased.”_

* * *

Sasaki squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, folding his hands in his sleeves. “His Lordship should have no cause for complaint. His orders have been carried out to the letter, as is proper.”

“Have they?” Another tilt. If she kept it up Tobirama was going to suspect her of being part bird at this rate. It was effectively unnerving though, Sasaki was starting to sweat.

“I beg your pardon?” Sasaki drew himself up, a little too stiffly to buy the bluster.

“Have they been completed to the letter, Nori-sama?” She repeated, beginning to drum her fingers on the desk. They sound of her taloned gloves was loud in the room. A strict hold on decorum the only thing keeping Sasaki from flinching.

“Indisputably,” Sasaki said coldly. “I am a loyal servant!”

The oniwaban leaned forward, digging her talons into the surface of the desk and pulling back curls of loose wood with a low rasp. Tilt. “Why the fire?” This time Sasaki did flinch.

Tobirama exchanged a wide eyed look with Izuna.

“Was it for the insurance?” She continued, smoothly standing up and bracing herself on the desk, pushing the papers off to scatter on the floor. “I understand you’re quite the spender. Did you get greedy, is that it?”

“I am _insulted_ ,” Sasaki hissed, spots of color growing high on his cheeks. “Where are these accusations coming from? It is _expensive_ to maintain the upkeep of a building, a sizable building I’ll remind you, as old as the Diplomat’s House. It’s— _it was_ —older than the current iteration of the palace!”

“So you arranged for it to burn to the ground to preserve the coffers? How _altruistic_ of how you,” The oniwaban mused. “I’m almost impressed by your gall. Rather than content yourself with skimming off the top you tried to grab the whole pot. Naughty, naughty Nori-sama.”

Sasaki flushed, mouth trembling with the force of his emotions. “What are these insinuations, I am an honorable Lord—”

“Are you?” Tilt. A hop. She perched on the desk as lightly as any cat crouched in anticipation. “You’re a liar is what you are. My Lord knows. Under you the Diplomat’s House became a blemish on the Royal Quarter. How the small folk snicker about the wretched place where once stood a dignified member of the court. How can you stand so tall when your honor has fallen so low?”

 _Holy shit_ , Izuna mouthed silently, eyes wide and hands slack. Tobirama agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Now if only they’d hurry up a bit, the blood was rushing to his head and it was getting really annoying.

Sasaki took a step forward, anger overcoming his fear. His hands dropped from his sleeves, balled at his sides and shaking from a different emotion. “I will have your rank for such accusations!” He snarled. “How dare you accuse one such as I? You, who can’t even show your despicable faces in the light of day? Don’t you speak to me of honor as if you have any!”

Then he lifted his chin, a noble’s gesture of outrage, and the oniwaban _pounced_.

One taloned hand clamped on his shoulder, and Sasaki had just enough time to cry out when the other swiped across his throat and took his jugular with it. Both feet on his chest she rode the body down with a crash. She stayed kneeling on his chest as he struggled to breathe, watching with a predator’s detached interest as he gurgled and choked and spilled dark blood like some cursed spring.

One had to admire the efficiency of her cruelty; this message was _pointed._

“Don’t think His Lordship will turn a blind eye to corruption in his court, Nori-sama,” The oniwaban whispered. “No matter how much evidence you burn.”

Tobirama decided now was the time to leave before their absences got any more suspicious. He did not want to be here when other people came looking for Sasaki. Izuna barely suppressed a yelp when he tugged on him and pointed to the open window. The Uchiha glared at him, rather uselessly since Tobirama studiously avoiding catching his gaze.

Izuna pouted and that was no. He refused to deal with that, you couldn’t pay him enough.

With that, he elected to leave by himself. Let Izuna stick around and be suspiciously absent all night where there was a dead body about, _he_ was procuring an alibi.

With stealth and the Uchiha’s genjutsu he made it out the window with no problems and climbed down the wall to land, crouched, on the paved walkway. A quick check revealed no chakra signatures, civilian or shinobi—

Wait.

Tobirama bit down on a sigh and as Izuna slid down the wall to land beside him.

“Would it kill you not to take the most unnecessary option?” He asked irritably. First the desk, now this. Hadn’t Izuna ever heard of conserving energy? It was lesson number one of taijutsu. Maybe Tobirama hit his head a few times too many?

Nah, Izuna was irresponsible enough to get his own head hit without Tobirama doing it for him.

“Absolutely,” Izuna deadpanned, also sweeping for witnesses.

“Stop doing it then,” Tobirama retorted.

Izuna turned wide eyes on him and Tobirama flicked his gaze down to focus on the Uchiha’s nose. “But that would kill me!”

“I don’t care,” Tobirama said dryly. “Wait! Let me think about it!” He paused, as if to actually consider it. “No, still don’t care.”

“Prick,” Izuna muttered.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Let’s go.” Tobirama rolled his eyes, following the walkway away from sight of the windows above them. “Unlike you, I don’t plan to get caught because I’m too busy _mooning_.”

“I wasn’t mooning!” Izuna flushed bright red and stumbled. Tobirama deliberately moved out of reach of his flailing hands and watching, entertained, as Izuna teetered his way back to balance.

“Could have fooled me,” Tobirama said, smirking, then he assumed a pitying expression and tutted sadly. “I guess you are at the age to be interested in...other swords.”

Izuna spluttered, flushing even brighter. “Fuck you, I wasn’t mooning! Watching Sasaki get his was the most satisfying thing I’ve seen in months, okay?

“Uh-huh, sure,” Tobirama turned to hide a smile. Izuna truly made it too easy. He darted around a corner, causing Izuna to curse and speed up or risk being left behind. The path forked here, one path continuing alongside the wall and the other going straight out into a finely sculpted ornamental garden. A window was conveniently placed to look out in the garden.

A quick peek inside revealed an empty hall and Tobirama wasted no time feeling for an external latch; if the palace accommodated oniwaban movement then—aha! Feeling his fingers catch on a divot that… He scowled. A divot that was too high up for him to comfortably reach. Grumbling under his breath, he planted one foot on the wall and hoisted himself up with his left hand, having to awkwardly turn his wrist in order to jimmy the latch with his right.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to do that?” Izuna asked, leaning against the wall and damnably amused.

“ _I got it_ ,” He growled, then cursed as his fingers slipped. Surely, this shouldn’t be so difficult, what happened when oniwaban tried to open the window upside down?

“Cause I can probably reach it without having to climb, just saying.” Izuna pointed out.

Chin set mulishly, he planted both knees on the wall and twisted to jimmy the latch with his left hand, scowl deepening when the window finally opened. Of course, now that the window was open he could spot a second external latch at the top of the window, nearly hidden in the shadow of the frame. Guess that answers that question.

They walked the halls in silence, him fuming and Izuna amused but too smart to open his mouth and invite the inevitable attempt on his life. He led them straight to the Guest Wing where their fathers’ glowed in his mind’s eye.

“Senju.”

Tobirama barely suppressed a groan. “What now?”

“Here.” Izuna held out a scroll, shoulders hunched sheepishly. “We’re probably leaving in the morning so. Happy early birthday.”

He stared at the little bonsai kodama hanging off the end.

“Did you get me a tree?” He managed.

Izuna pouted, “How did you guess? It’s in a scroll!”

“This is because I gave you a fan isn’t it,” Tobirama said, accepting the scroll with an emotion not entirely dissimilar to defeat. The kodama squished itself happily against his hand and he grimaced.

“Wasn’t very imaginative of you, no.” Izuna said agreeably.

 


	39. Return of the traveling bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey, remember how Butsuma is still a war hardened FailDad? Here is your regularly scheduled reminder. Thank goodness this arc is over.

 

_“This is because I gave you a fan isn’t it,” Tobirama said, accepting the scroll with an emotion not entirely dissimilar to defeat. The kodama squished itself happily against his hand and he grimaced._

_“Wasn’t very imaginative of you, no.” Izuna said agreeably._

* * *

His father was still up and grim faced when he eased the door open, resisting the urge to duck his head like some errant child. Which he technically was; errant that is, not a child. Although the scroll was tucked out of sight he was uncomfortably conscious of the plush kodama cuddled against his palm. And Churippu’s ever increasing ire at its existence.

Getting through this conversation was going to be a joy, he can just tell.

“Your report?” Butsuma asked without preamble.

“Initial hypothesis is as yet unproven,” Tobirama said promptly, spilling the whole encounter. Minus certain...minutia. Any good shinobi knew not to bog a report down with unnecessary details.

Butsuma got grimmer and grimmer, until by the end he was tiredly rubbing his fingers across his forehead and staring sightlessly over Tobirama’s head.

“It doesn’t rule out the Daimyo’s involvement,” He said, thoughtful and heavy. “Disavowing a subordinate through death has happened on less pretext. Subordinates previously trusted with the dirty work even less than that; there comes a point where they simply know too much.”

“Or Sasaki had a history of negligence and fraud and this was just his due comeuppance,” Tobirama pointed out. “He wasn’t exactly a pillar of intelligence.” Churippu started shifting against his skin so he shifted his right hand behind himself, as casually as possible. He suppressed a twitch when the kodama clung to his haori instead.

He really did twitch when Churippu started slithering up his arm with murderous intent. He quickly folded his arms, laying a hand over her to keep her still. _Don’t do that,_ he silently pleaded, _not now._

“And his Esteemed Lordship is only just now taking him to task?” Butsuma said dryly. “If one of my men were laundering money from the Clan and neglecting his duties I would have publically gutted him as an example. No, we know too little about the finer nuances of the Daimyo’s court. We are absent too often, and our informants ill-placed to keep us abreast.”

Tobirama had to concede the point. Not that their informants in Yumeyo didn’t do their jobs admirably, it was just that, none of them had an in with any of the various Nobles. Some things really were too rarefied for the average servant to eavesdrop on, though Sage knows they tried.

 _/bright/_ a burbly voice cooed behind him. _/light on water/_

Oh no, not this. Not now! His shoulders drew back in discomfort when the kodama started climbing up his haori in the most distracting fashion. It would tug higher, pause, nuzzle at the new spot on his back with more cooing, rinse and repeat. His skin was fairly crawling with the need to rip it off, to get it away from his spine.

He made the mistake of letting go of his arm intending to pull his haori off entirely and Churippu shot up his arm like a yanked fishing line, forcing him to bite his cheek to suppress a noise.

“—Tobirama what has gotten into you?” Butsuma grabbed his chin and jerked his face up. When had he looked away? “You’re squirming like a child. Where is your discipline?”

Tobirama thought fast.

“I have to throw up!” He blurted, and yanked out of his father’s grip. Darting to the bathroom he slammed the door shut and yanked his hoari off, shaking out both a disgruntled Churippu and the kodama on the floor. Hearing his father’s footsteps he grimaced at what he had to do to sell this.

He bent over the toilet and stuck a finger down his throat.

It was distinctly unpleasant.

The sound of the door opening was almost lost amidst the sounds of retching. From the corner of his eye Butsuma leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and mouth pulled down into a heavy scowl.

“Why is it every time you get anywhere near this damn city you fall ill, hm?” Butsuma watched impassively as Tobirama cleaned himself up. On his part, Tobirama just tried not to be too obvious about stepping over the kodama being enthusiastically strangled to no apparent effect. Churippu was still giving it the Imperial College try though, he’d give her that.

“I’m not sick,” Tobirama muttered, grabbing the haori from the floor and shrugging it back on to hide the sudden bout of shivers. With an internal, resigned sigh at their troublesome antics he swept up the tussling little youkai and stuck them in a pocket.

Touching them flashed a confusing mixture of _happy/kill you!/cuddle/interloper!_ along his coils and he dropped them as if they burned, tingles dancing up and down his fingers like raiton sparks.

He had no idea what any of that looked like to his father and he definitely didn’t want to even attempt to explain. Where would he start? This really wasn’t something you could just _tell_ people. Not if you expect them to take you seriously.

Butsuma tsked irritably and dragged him closer, laying a palm on his forehead. “You’re hot,” he said shortly.

“That’s from throwing up,” Tobirama insisted, just barely keeping the snap out of his tone. “I’m not compromised, I swear.”

“You are lucky we’re about to leave,” Butsuma rumbled warningly, “and I don’t need to rely on you anymore.”

That stung, far more than it had any right to.

“I understand,” he said levely.

And he did, he always did no matter how much it hurt. Let Hashirama rail against the things he couldn’t change; he was oak, he’d break before he bent. Tobirama was water, a river, he flowed around obstacles instead, wore them down small and smooth over time until even children were capable of simply picking them up and skipping them across the surface if they felt like it.

“Bed, now.” Butsuma ordered, letting go at last. “Clothing has been provided on our behalves.”

Tobirama ducked away without a word, not quite _regretting_ the falsehood so much as merely bitter about the reminder of his father’s unsympathetic nature, never dormant and never far from the surface.

Despite himself, his spine relaxed when he found Botan waiting for him, wide eyed and clutching his travel pack. Botan pulled him down into a brief nuzzle, exuding _welcome/safe/welcome_ with new and interesting undertones of _/eat him?/_ It was almost funny except for the way the futon’s bright eyed eagerness only highlighted the predatory gleam.

“No, you can’t eat my father,” he grumbled into Botan’s soft shoulder, and if it was more grateful than annoyed, well, Botan wouldn’t tell anyone.

_/eat him a little bit?/_

Tobirama blanched.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Botan,” he said carefully. Churippu poked out his pocket, projecting _/confusion/_ and Tobirama had to bury his face in his hands. “We are not eating him, killing him, or otherwise tormenting him, he is my _Clan Head_.”

Churippu clacked her beads, _/shadows in the corner of your eye/_

Tobirama groaned, opting to just let it be. He could explain later why tormenting a shinobi in a position of power into manic paranoia was a _bad idea, sage help them._ For now, he needed tea if they were going to be like this.

And to get out of this blasted montsuki.

* * *

Butsuma actually did a double take when he left his room with a tea tin in hand.

“Aren’t those your clothes?” He asked, pointing incredulously.

Tobirama paused. Oh, this probably looked really suspicious, didn't it?

“...Yes,” he said, “I packed them.”

“You,” Butsuma pursed his lips, “unpacked all your things as soon as we arrived and...repacked them before dinner?” If his brows rose any higher his hairline was going to require a dowry.

“...Yes.”

“Why?”

“I told you,” Tobirama frowned. “My room was tampered with last year. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.”

“...Is that your _bed_?”

“It’s a very reliable bed!”

 

 


	40. Sometimes bad decisions are a template, rather than an example

 

_“...Is that your bed?”_

_“It’s a very reliable bed!”_

* * *

This part of the mountain was quiet.

Noon day sun filtered through the leaves overhead and dappled on the water of the little spring. The little waterfall was refreshingly cold, the pressure across his scalp and shoulders just enough to be grounding without being distracting. The running water almost enough to drown out the sound of sparrows twittering in the trees.

It was absolute perfection compared to the tenseness of the last week dealing with politics and his father at the same time. Then Hashirama’s rare temperamental outburst when they returned home; nothing got him going quite like court politics.

But now was not the time for that, now was the time for meditation, for strengthening the spirit—

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time?” Natsuru asked, stepping through the water like a long-legged water fowl, chirping occasionally when the minnows scattered as her shadow moved. “That’s pretty rude of you, disregarding a lady like that.”

Don’t twitch, don’t listen, just keep breathing evenly—

“I know something much more fun to do,” Natsuru cooed from far too close for comfort. Tobirama instinctively leaned away and spluttered when water went up his nose. Natsuru laughed and pulled him out of the waterfall. “You’re such a boy sometimes, kouhai.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tobirama grumbled, rubbing at his nose in a vain attempt to soothe the burning. “And stop bothering me. You know how important my training is.”

Natsuru tilted her head, large black eyes disconcertingly unblinking. In the slant of sunlight her face took on a beak-like cast, and the feathers in her hair lifted and spread like a bird’s crest. “I had a senpai when I was your age. Chiwako is old for a tengu now but she visits sometimes to see how I’m doing. Do you deny me this privilege, Senju Tobirama?”

That took him aback. In hindsight, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Given the rarity of kamikakushi perhaps he should have expected the ones who survive to have a vested interest in keeping an eye out for the newcomers.

“Fine,” he acquiesced grudgingly. “What’s so ‘fun’ that it’s more important than training?”

Natsuru trilled in obvious pleasure, tugging on his sleeve until he had to scramble after or risk losing it entirely. “Come, come! We’re putting a party together!”

* * *

Tobirama eyed them all dubiously. Various Cranes were suiting up in armor and strapping on sharp knives that looked a little too sharp to be used in battle but we’re probably just right for taking off hair. Natsuru was fluttering around with little paint pots and brushes, applying warpaint to whoever caught her eye and held still long enough.

“Kurono-sama, Shishou said I wasn’t supposed to let you talk me into a warband,” Tobirama said, studiously keeping the Orihime between himself and Natsuru at all times. He was not the warpaint type, thank you very much. He’d leave that to Touka.

“And yet here you are, bedecked in our battle feathers,” Kurono gave a throaty laugh, hands on her hips. Tobirama tugged at the feathered kimono-top’s sleeves, feeling a little bare without Churippu who’d opted to relax at the Temple today. “A little late to protest, boy, we have you now.” Kurono smiled a raptor’s grin and Tobirama resisted the urge to edge away. One did not expose weakness in front of a predator like that.

Kurono turned away and whistled sharply.

“Five minutes to wrap up and then we move out!”

In the following scramble Natsuru managed to corner him and paint a broad stripe of yellow  across his nose, going from cheek to cheek.

“So we don’t lose you,” she chirped, as if that was any kind of problem.

“Who are we going after, more onikuma?” Tobirama asked in lieu of something much more immature, like swearing revenge.

“Oh no,” Natsuru cooed, eyes going wide. “The nekomata have migrated down to the cliffs with spring so close. It would be a wasted opportunity not to offer our aid with their winter scruff.”

‘Offer’, right. Last Tobirama checked you helped animals groom their winter scruff with a brush, not knives. Wait a second. “Aren’t nekomata the really big, misanthropic cats that eat people? Raise the dead? Strike you down with sickness?” Tobirama asked, pretty certain he knew the answer but asking anyway in the vain hope of being wrong.

Natsuru cooed, “They make the softest winter clothes.”

Of course they do.

And then they were off, darting through the woods until the valley ended and the steep incline to the cliffs began. The trees were thinner here if no less densely packed, windblown and salt swept at the very edges. And pressed into the dirt were paw prints larger around than Tobirama’s own hands.

For the first time since he agreed to this venture, Tobirama felt the breathless curl of anticipation in his gut, the singing in his veins.

This was going to be fun.

He pulled a little tendril out of the bundle of gold he kept tucked beneath his heart, just enough to sharpen his sense of natural chakra. Tugging on Natsuru’s sleeve he led them unerringly, on soundless feet, to the nearest clearing, taking the circuitous path to keep them downwind of the tiger-sized beast snoozing in the sunlight. The nekomata was a gleamy tawny color with brown striping, a hint of a mane in the fluffy scruff of his head and shoulders, twin tails sprawled out carelessly.

Natsuru moved fearlessly into the clearing, stepping lightly up to the cat’s side and plucking loose winter fur as quickly and surely as any gardener harvesting camellia leaves for tea. Tobirama ghosted to her side and did his best to mimic her technique.

It was more a hook and drag movement than actually pulling hair, he noted. The slightest pulling might wake their prey so instead Natsuru lightly dragged her long nails on the surface of the fur and plucked anything that came with.

Tobirama frowned; shinobi kept their nails short for many a practical reason. He frowned harder, he didn’t come along just to be useless. With a quick check of the nekomata’s state, still fast asleep, he trickled a bit of chakra into his palms and shifted it towards lightning until the loose fur was attracted to the static.

Natsuru beamed at the double handfuls of fur he offered her. With another quick check at the nekomata beginning to shift she chivied him away to find their next target.

As far as stealth games went this was exhilarating.

Tobirama stayed on the lookout for sleeping ones, as awake ones would be too dangerous for them to deal with alone. He and Natsuru snuck from cat to cat, some of them so deeply asleep they could pull almost all of their loose fur before they stirred, and others dozing so lightly it was all they could do to dart close enough to pluck a single hair. Occasionally they dodged around other Cranes who quietly trilled at how full their bag was.

“One more I think,” Natsuru whispered.

“Over there,” Tobirama pointed after a moment’s concentration, “by the cliff.” He smirked. “Feels like a big one.”

Natsuru made a harsh noise in the back of her throat in response, too high and grating for human vocal cords.

The cliffs opened up to deep water over here, the little dragon guarded cove left far behind. A ring of old, dead saplings littered this cat’s sleeping spot, the earth freshly turned and made soft by sharp claws.

Sharp claws that belonged to no kind of nekomata he’d seen today.

This cat was bulkier, with streamlined fur more reminiscent of an otter though every bit as brilliantly stripped as an actual tiger. If tigers came in hues of blue, purple, and red that is. A sharp crest with lionfish spines ran from shoulders to mid-back and the singular tail curled ‘round its nose tapered to thin and rudder-like.

This was no nekomata. This was a shachihoko.

They needed to leave, now.

He barely managed one step back when a hand landed between his shoulder blades and _shoved_ him forward, hard enough to make him lose his balance and skid onto to his side. Natsuru darted into the trees, a victorious caw startlingly loud after the hushed stealth not a moment before. There was no time to register the betrayal however.

Those lantern yellow eyes were staring right at him.

 


	41. Interlude of climbing vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tadaa! What Hashirama's been up to.

 

_Those lantern yellow eyes were staring right at him._

* * *

Hashirama paced the room, muttering furiously under his breath. His temper was a living thing under his skin, snapping and snarling and so, so cold. He rarely felt the urge to kill with any real substance behind it but oh, oh today he felt like making an exception. It would be so easy, all he needed was a _splinter._

“Fire’s will, fire’s will. Bah! What does _he_ know about the Will of Fire? He spits on Fire’s Will!” Hashirama burst out, twining a hand in his hair and tugging hard. “The Will of Fire encompasses everyone! Not just the people you like! He’s splitting this country in half and he’ll have no one but himself to blame when it descends into chaos!”

“Ranting about it won’t change anything,” Butsuma said absently, accepting another report on alleged Akimichi activity. Now that they _had_ to pay attention to them, rather than tactfully turning a blind eye, his father had ordered the archives tossed for any intelligence tagged with their presence within the last year.

It was taking a bit to find it all; it seemed that at some point Tobirama had ransacked the place and put everything back in way that made no obvious sense to anyone. He’d also, many a cousin complained, left not so much as a single note to explain the new system.

“Respectfully I must disagree. Ranting is the basis of sounding out a problem which is the first step to formulating solutions to mitigate it. It is the beginning of change,” Hashirama countered, forcibly keeping the bite out of his tone.

In his mind, the mentality of ‘what’s the point of complaining, just endure’ was one of the many clear problems plaguing their society. Complaining was a form of communication, it showed where there were problems that needed addressing. If you didn’t _say something_ when you were having trouble keeping your head above water then how could you act surprised when you drowned? You needed to _speak up_ if you wanted to be heard!

In his heart, he mourned the day his brother stopped believing you could solve your problems by talking them out. It lay buried with their other brothers, and in just as many pieces.

“At this point you’re just venting bad air,” Butsuma gave him a hard look that said he was getting on his nerves, and pointedly returned to his reading. “For the nth time.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Hashirama burst out before he could help himself. “When the room smells musty you open a window and let it air, when a wound festers you open it up and drain it out. How is venting my turmoil any different? I’m excising a blight on my mind.”

“The difference is you are carelessly exposing weakness,” Butsuma growled, slapping the report down. “And weaknesses are targets. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“To who, you? Are you going to stab me, Father?” Hashirama demanded hotly, selfishly glad that Tobirama wasn’t here to defuse this. Sometimes he just wanted to pick a fight with the hidebound bastard without him trying to get in the way.

Butsuma slammed his hands on the desk and stood up, chair skittering back and utterly furious. “Damn it, boy, you never listen!”

A cousin that Hashirama vaguely recognizes as Hatsuharu of the brown hair, not to be mistaken for Hatsuharu of the lip scar, froze in the doorway, clutching a new stack of papers. When they both turned to look at him, Hastuharu hastily backed up the one step he made into the room and shut the door.

Tension abruptly interrupted, Butsuma drew a harsh breath through his nose and pulled his chair back, sitting down heavily.

Hashirama looked away and returned to pacing, chastising himself for letting his temper get the best of things. He promised Tobirama he’d be better than this! And speaking of, “Where’s Tobirama; shouldn’t he be helping you with this?”

There, that was civil. Now he can truthfully say he was trying.

“He’s been lying about his health again,” Butsuma said shortly, almost biting out the words. “I told him he could spend the day on bedrest or it was back to letting the medics poke at him again.”

Hashirama winced, manfully resisting the urge to groan out loud. It’s like Butsuma didn’t even know his youngest son. Being sick wasn’t real in his mind until it hurt too much to move, and even then he’d argue that this is what lap desks were for.

It was both endearing and highly aggravating.

Butsuma must have noticed anyway, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he said, “I’m aware he prefers to be busy. No, I didn’t give him anything to do. This is a punishment,”

 _Do you even know why he does you—_ Hashirama suppressed that thought and plastered a neutral expression on top. Best not pick yet another fight so soon after the first one, that would just be petty now wouldn’t it?

“You know he’s snuck out then, right?” He asked wryly instead. To train, or sulk, they were one and the same for his brother. “His bed’s not in his room.”

Butsuma looked up incredulously, “Does he take that thing everywhere?”

“I know!” Hashirama pouted. “He says it’s more reliable than I am!”

* * *

Because he is not actually a masochist, no matter what Tobirama says, he does not spend all day in his father’s company. He has other things to do with his time that don’t involve subjecting himself to that.

Errands needed to be run, injured to check on, more wood to be grown for housing. The work never ended for an Heir. Honestly, they wondered why he insisted on so many breaks, all work and no play wore him out.

But no such luck today.

There are bases to be touched with the farmers; last he heard they needed a new shipment of ashes to mix with the soil before planting season. There were seven urns in the morgue from people who wished to be donated for that service in death, as well as twice that many sacks with ashes harvested from fireplaces and braziers. It would be just about enough for the fields going acidic, or so he hoped, as long as they were frugal about it.

Also, Misono was almost done with the preliminary results on the efficacy of Mokuton grown medicinal plants but so far nothing looked promising. The Mokuton, it was just, it wasn’t healthy for people who didn’t have it.

Hashirama was guilty and relieved by measures when he thought about it. On the one hand, it was awful that it was so useless for feeding and healing en masse, and on the other, he thought it was good that they wouldn’t grow to rely on it. He wasn’t going to live forever and there was no guarantee his children would inherit, no guarantee his grandchildren or great-grandchildren either. It emerged so rarely in their bloodline.

Hashirama dismissed that thought. It wasn’t like the whole Clan wasn’t aware of that, no point in stressing himself about the things that really couldn’t be helped.

So much to do, so little time.

There were much more pleasant things to think about; like his latest letter from Mito!

He smiled dreamily to himself; he hasn’t told anyone about striking up correspondence with one of the Heirs of their cousin Clan. Mito was so smart and sensible! She thought clear and honest communication was a must too! Hashirama was in raptures.

Butsuma was sending him to Uzushio next month for the usual alliance pleasantries and he was so looking forward to seeing Mito again. They way the sunlight brought out the blonde highlights in her hair—

He hastily rearranged his face into something more dignified when Hatsuharu, lip scar not brown hair, rushed around the corner and almost bowled him over.

“Whoa, what’s the rush? Anything on fire?” Hashirama grabbed the man’s elbow to steady him when he almost fell over. Oops.

“Hashirama-sama!” Hatsuharu clutched at him. “It’s your brother!”

“What?” Hashirama went cold. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Hatsuharu admitted, wincing. “You know that old well out by Ryuzetsu’s place?”

“The empty one we’ve been meaning to fill in?” Hashirama frowned, reminding himself to calm down before the floorboards starting sprouting. If it were life and death Hatsuharu would have opened with that.

“That’s the one. Ryuzetsu found him curled up at the bottom and he’s refusing to come out,” Hastuharu said, faintly bewildered by this strange change in behavior from his normally stoic and steady Heir.

“Do you know why?” Hashirama asked, blinking in equal bewilderment because, what? Surely a day of bedrest didn’t merit that level of dramatics. Hashirama would know.

“He didn’t say.” Hatusharu shrugged helplessly. “He just snarls at anyone that tries to climb down. Or talk to him.”

“I—alright?” Okay, this was...really concerning. “I’ll go...sort that out.”

 


	42. The cat that caught the canary

 

_“He didn’t say” Hatusharu shrugged helplessly. “He just snarls at anyone that tries to climb down. Or talk to him.”_

_“I—alright?” Okay, this was...really concerning. “I’ll go...sort that out.”_

* * *

Tobirama didn’t dare move under that lantern yellow gaze, didn’t dare breathe too loud, every muscle tensed to spring. Eyes widened when the rumbling started, the flicking tail just barely brushing his fingertips.

“So you’re the littlest Wakagimi I’ve heard so much about, hm,” She—an undeniably feminine voice—said, rumbled, deep in her chest fit to rattle bones, rattle the earth. “I was wondering when we’d meet.”

Carefully, cautiously, he levered up from his elbow so he was less on his side and more on his knees. “You were expecting me, Lady?”

She chuffed, tossing her head regally, “It’s a game the Cranes play; take someone they like out on a Hunt and run them into my path to see how I react. If I like you, you get to keep your life. If I don’t, well, then I eat you, don’t I?”

“And what do the Cranes get out of it?” Tobirama asked, then quickly added, “Lady.”

“Oh, who knows. I never bothered to ask.” Was it just him or were those pupils expanding? Black overtaking bright yellow until only a thin ring remained. “There are much more interesting things to think about. Like, oh, what’s inside the hearts of men. They’re delicious, you know. Do you know which hearts I prefer to eat, Wakagimi?”

“Cowards,” he whispered, “oathbreakers, traitors.” Those eyes were unnaturally captivating. Cold was growing within and goosebumps erupted on his skin, minute shivers tickling up his spine. Didn’t she ever blink?

“Do you want to know what I see in your heart?” She rumbled, oh so pleased.

Tobirama blinks and it doesn’t break the spell. “I’m not a coward.”

“No,” She practically purred. “A brave little thing you are; you never turn away once you commit. Perhaps that’s your mortal flaw? So brave, so committed, you didn’t think twice about betraying your brother at all.”

“No, that's not true,” he rasped, shaking his head, slow and clumsy and cold and wasn’t this sensation horribly familiar?

“Yes,” she said, implacable and mighty, every dark thought that lurked beneath the consciousness, every memory of accusation from a beloved voice, pressing down until it hurt to breathe. “Couldn’t keep his secrets the one time it mattered, could you. Had to go running the instant you saw. Was it jealousy? Was it hate?”

“No!” He didn’t want to hear this. _He didn’t want to hear this._ The shachihoko was coming closer, practically pressed forehead to forehead, and he was shaking hard and _he couldn’t move!_

“No? Then explain yourself, boy, I want to know if it was it worth it to break his trust so.”

And Tobirama had no answer to give. His thoughts were racing too fast to grab. A wound he’d thought scabbed over had been raked open with surgical precision as easily as he’d slit a rabbit’s throat for dinner. Was that what this was? Was he the rabbit getting its throat slit? She had no right, _she had no right to ask these things._

She blew a puff of hot air in his face and just like that the spell broke, and he wasted no time in scrambling up and away on trembling legs.

The shachihoko stretched languidly and gave him a cat’s smile, “Run, boy. You’re food.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He shunshined so fast his legs all but screamed in protest and still it wasn’t fast enough. The shachihoko was on his tail with a roar that echoed, the very air shivering in its wake.

Tobirama wrenched into a pivot, throwing himself into a headlong sprint downhill towards the valley, dodging around trees as nimbly as a lifetime in forests could lend. From there was the beach and then up the mountain to the temple where safety lay—

A jet of water crashed in front of him and knocked his feet out from under him, sending him down hill in a clumsy roll, thick underbrush scratching and tearing. It took grabbing a young sapling to halt his momentum, skittering and bouncing against the dirt as he pulled himself up before he even came to a stop and then it was back uphill as the shachihoko stared challengingly up at him from below.

“I thought you weren’t a coward,” she called gleefully.

Tobirama ignored her, running into and up the first tree that looked thick enough to support his weight. Panting hard for breath, he crouched in the branches as the shachihoko circled the trunk. At the first jetstream tearing into the trunk, splinters flying, he leapt for the next tree, and the next, and the next.

And then the next was too thin to hold him and went swaying down, down, crashing into another tree. He went tumbling, scraping skin from his palms and losing a nail or two on bark when his momentum proved greater than chakra could hold without cracking bone.

The loam offered no soft landing and the thud of landing reverberated up his legs, buckled his knees and then teeth clamped on the back of his feathered kimono, so close to skin he felt whuffing hot breath before he was airborne again. The kimono ripped under the force of teeth and his own weight, feathers scattering, and he cried out when his back hit a tree and pain zinged up his spine into his skull.

“Is that it?” she asked, sounding _bored_ of all things.

In response, he brought his hands together in series of quick signs and slammed them on the ground with a pained grunt, earthen spikes shooting out and under the cat. He didn’t dare risk using water but every Senju learned the ways of Earth whether they were suited for it or not. Scrambling to get his feet under while she was distracted reducing his attack to so much messy shrapnel and staggering back to a run.

On and on she did that, letting him stay just out of reach. Herding him up the cliffs, batting at him with paws and tail when he wasn’t quick enough.

Until finally she herded him right up to a sheer drop.

Tobirama stared down at the sea below and knew it for his own end; battered and bruised and run to exhaustion. A stray half-hysterical thought that no one would take his body home drifted past and he ruthlessly shoved it away. He’d die with more dignity than that, surely.

“I’ll ask again, boy,” the shachihoko said behind him. “Was it worth it?”

Tobirama turned around and looked her right in the eye, chin lifted with all the pride he could muster under her unwavering judgement. “My _brother_ would be dead if I hadn’t,” he spat. “The living can forgive. The dead rarely offer that luxury. If that bothers you, Lady, then so be it!”

And then...she smiled, and eased her stance, looking at him with something like approval.

“There we are, Wakagimi. That’s what I’m looking for,” she rumbled. “No prince of the seas will I accept who cannot look himself in the eye. This is much better.”

Tobirama almost crumpled off the cliff from sheer outraged disbelief.

“ _What the hell was all that then?_ ” he hissed. All that, _all that_ , tearing at old wounds until they choked him, chasing him all over, _threatening death_ , all to satisfy her own sense of what she thought he ought to be?

“I am _shachihoko_ , boy!” She hissed right back. “I am the eater of men! Judger of crimes! Second only to dragons! I am the one who looks into hearts and drains the poison therein by death or pain! Feel lucky you had so little!”

Tobirama didn’t know what to say to that, too utterly furious to string a coherent thought together.

“But I will give you my name to remember me by—”

“I don’t want it!” he snarled.

“Too bad, you have earned its use in fair trial,” she dipped her head regally. “I give you fair greeting Senju Tobirama; I am Ameyuri.” Her rumble deepened into a growl. “Pleased to have not eaten you yet.”

The her head snapped up, blasting water from her open maw and striking him right in the chest. He fell and there was no ground to catch him, and for a single breathless moment—literally, what with all the air having been forced from his lungs—he was in freefall.

He hit the water with an almighty splash, the surface breaking almost sharp as knives against his skin. Disoriented, he floated, lungs burning. Weakly, he tried to thrash back into some semblance of upright. But the water was so heavy, he was so tired, and the spots in his vision were growing.

 _No_ , he thought, _I am not going to die like this._ Water was always within his grasp; the sea was a very different beast to the rivers and lakes he was used to, but all living water had a pulse, had a current. He just needed to call it, let it carry him aloft—

Then something thick and rubbery wrapped around his leg and yanked him under.

 


	43. The Great Akkorokamui

 

_ No, he thought, _I am not going to die like this._ Water was always within his grasp; the sea was a very different beast to the rivers and lakes he was used to, but all living water had a pulse, had a current. He just needed to call it, let it carry him aloft— _

_ Then something thick and rubbery wrapped around his leg and yanked him under.  _

* * *

Being dragged through water at speed when you were already delirious from lack of oxygen is right up there with ‘falling down a well with an arrow in your shoulder’ on the list of things Tobirama would rather  _ never do again thank you. _ Ever.

He thinks he’s being dragged toward the cliffs, in as much as he noticed the big dark wall coming his way. It was kind of a big clue.

Just as he was giving into the inevitable and passing out the grip on his leg yanked him into a cave of sorts and out of the water. As it turns out, trying to cough up water and gulp air at the same time was massively uncomfortable while upside down. At least there was light to see by.

A red octopus tentacle as wide around as a barrel curled up under him so he was laying on it, throwing up seawater and coughing miserably as the other one let go of his leg and gently rubbed circles on his back.

“Oh, dear, dear, dear. Someone was rough with you.”

“What tipped you off?” Tobirama spat, drooping exhaustedly.

“None of that now, I’m only trying to help!”

“Help?” Tobirama pushed himself up and promptly slipped on the slick surface. Angrily, he turned to face the truly gigantic red octopus in the room. “You almost drowned me!”

Two more tentacles rose on either side of them in an almost apologetic ‘what can you do gesture?’ 

“I suppose that is kind of distressing for you monobreathers,” the octopus said, somehow managing to be heard with perfect clarity despite the fact his mouth was definitely under the water and, as far as Tobirama was aware, not equipped with either lips, tongue, or teeth. Tobirama mentally filed it under supernatural bullshit for a later day. “But fear not small vertebrate, there’s nothing the Akkorokamui can’t heal! Ahahahaha!”

Tobirama vomited more seawater on them in direct defiance of their cheer.

“Now come, come, tell the great Akkorokamui your troubles whilst I make them disappear!” The Akkorokamui chortled to itself, picking Tobirama up with a tentacle wrapped around his waist so they could rinse their other tentacle off. Setting him back down in a cradle of curled up rubber that nonetheless very carefully kept the suckers turned away.

Tobirama scooted away from the poking tentacles, “I don’t need your help. No offense, but I’ve had my fill of gods today.”

“Oh pish posh, you’re black and blue. I don’t think that’s your natural coloring,” the Akkorokamui squinted, a tad uncertain. “It isn’t, is it?”

“Of course not, but—”

The tentacle he was sitting on lit up with healing green, limning the lines of the cave, the god’s face, and the rapidly fading bruises and scratches on his own skin. Swatting away the poking tentacles only got a wrist grabbed while the octopus cooed and tutted over each missing nail now rapidly growing back in.

“Oh, oh, look at your coils!” The Akkorokamui fretted. “Almost more fracture than flesh, dear me, dear me. Oh, they’re fair shredded. Have you been letting others nibble at you? You only have so much to give before you give out, you know. Can’t be too generous.”

It was a day for unpleasant shocks it seems, one right after the other. Tobirama closed his eyes and sent the most heartfelt prayer for patience out into the ether, before focusing on the god. 

“Is it really that bad?” He asked. His wrist was released and he gratefully pulled it close, distantly marvelling at the lack of even the lividness of new grown skin. 

“Oh, nothing I can’t fix in a jiffy!” The Akkorokamui chortled, waving about a tentacle as if to dismiss the absurdity of such a notion. “You want me to heal all of it or just some of it?”

“What?” he breathed, eyes wide. “You can... do that?”

“‘Course I can!” The octopus drew himself up. “I’m the great Akkorokamui! There’s nothing I can’t heal and don’t you forget it.” The siphon on the side of their head vented air. “So is that a yes or a no?”

“I…” Tobirama drew in a shaky breath. “I thought being kamikakushi was permanent.”

“Well,” Spare tentacles twining fretfully, the octopus erupted in bumps and rapidly flashed purple and red. “No one ever asks me my opinion. It’s always ‘shut up ‘Koro we know who you are already!’ and fishermen’s wives screaming at the top of their lungs like I’m going to do something nefarious. Then again, you know how uncommon it is for aquatics to get to kamikakushi first? Stupid monobreathing land vertebrates…” The god trailed off into sheepish grumbles.

“But you can heal it?” Tobirama asked urgently, something like hope and something like dread churning in his gut. “That’s possible? What about a claim, can you take those off too?”

“Weeell, I mean,” The Akkrokamui dithered, sinking a bit. “Purification is in my wheelhouse if you know what I mean, and anything that falls under the aegis of ‘influence’ can be purified, soo, I guess? Why, do you not like the dragons?”

“They’re...” Tobirama closed his mouth and pursed his lips, uncertain how to respond. 

“‘Cause, you know, at the rate you’re being eaten if you don’t balance it out with a yokai transformation soon you’ll run the risk of natural chakra poisoning. And no one likes being a statue,” The Akkorokamui added. “So how ‘bout it, little vertebrate? Just a little off the top, or a whole new slate?”

“I..”

“Oh, take your time and think it over! I’m immortal you know.”

He bit his lip, arms coming up to wrap around himself. This, this was going to hurt no matter what.

* * *

It’s bright out of the dark of the sea, and colder still when wet.

Tobirama staggered, shivering, out of the surf, the Akkorokamui having dropped him off not far from a familiar cove guarded by dragon statues carved into the surrounding cliffs. The sun was slanting into afternoon overhead and the wind was picking up. Distant clouds on the horizon speaking of early spring storms.

The shachihoko was waiting for him there, grinning. 

“So you lived, how boring,” she snorted, pupils going wide and that strange, fearful pressure beginning to settle on his shoulders.

Tobirama did his best to breath through it, homing in on the rapidly approaching chakra signatures with a heavy heart.

Otsuno came charging from the forest in a whirl of yellow cloth, his sword drawn and Izuna wrapped around his shoulders. He jumped and twisted through the air and landed between them, gaze utterly furious as it fell upon the cat. His sword hand swept out, drawing a line in the sand and curving up and around protectively in front of his student, his right held up with palm facing outward.

There was nothing pleading or placating about the gesture though; Otsuno wasn’t braced to defend, he was braced to push.

“Get you gone, Ameyuri,” he snarled, his chakra rising like viscous magma and cutting through the strange fear in the air.

“Ouch, have I sunk so low in your eyes that you resort to abhaya mudra?” Ameyuri faltered, shrinking back.

“I said, get you gone, calamitous beast,” Ostuno repeated icily, bringing his sword to his chest and flipping it down, making a seal around the hilt. “I am the Sacred Servant of the Rain-Bringer; He of Mountains and Seas. Oh Lord of the Heights, I command thee Banish this  _ evil  _ before me—”

Ameyuri roared, tail thrashing, recoiling as if every word were a knife. With a last furious yowl she turned and ran, cringing and swearing with every step.

As soon as the cat was out of sight Izuna launched himself off Otsuno with a cry, “Tobi! Tobi!” frantically wrapping around his head like a very wiggly headband. A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up into his teacher’s stern face.

“Hell, kitten, you gave me the scare of my life.” Otsuno pulled him into a hug, tucking his head under his chin. If Tobirama clutched back that was his own business. “What did I say about the Cranes, hm? I said, don’t let them con you into a warband, you’ll regret it forever. Least you escaped with your hair intact,” Otsuno added, a weak joke to hide the crack in his voice. “Don’t think I won’t ground you for this, you better believe I have that power.”

Tobirama laughed wetly, as if that wasn’t the least of his worries.

“Shishou, there’s something I need to tell you…”

 

 


	44. Down in the deep with only truth for company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks be to inconveniencedneutrons whose tireless, amazing commentary kept me going.

 

_Tobirama laughed wetly, as if that wasn’t the least of his worries._

_“Shishou, there’s something I need to tell you…”_

* * *

He registered the approach of his brother’s bright chakra with intense dissatisfaction. How much clearer could it get that he wanted to be alone than at the bottom of a well? It’s practically an engraved invitation to kindly fuck off.

He was still moodily contemplating responding with something more vehement than mere words when Hashirama stuck his head over the lip of the well, his face in shadow. “Little brother? Are you still alive down there?”

“No, ‘course I’m not. Go away,” Tobirama muttered crankily, knowing full well any sound would be swallowed before it hit the top.

“I can’t hear you! I’m coming down!” Hashirama called down the shaft, lifting a leg over the lip.

“I said, go away Hashirama!” Tobirama snarled. “It’s too small for two people in here-ugh!” Too late, Hashirama was over the lip and blocking all the light with his enormous rump, or so it seemed from this angle. Tobirama wasn’t feeling inclined to be charitable about it.

He kept his gaze determinedly on the wall as Hashirama made his way down, dropping the last couple feet to awkwardly perch in what little space was left. The well was too thin for him to bend over, tall and gangly limbed as a sapling as he was.

“So,” Hashirama drawled, “This is cozy.”

Tobirama ignored him in the vain hope he’d get the hint and leave.

“In fact,” Hashirama continued, “it’s a little too cozy.” And saying such laid his hands on opposite sides of the well shaft and _pushed_ out with his chakra, widening the space until he had to brace with his legs on the wall to keep going. Tobirama fell back with a yelp as the flat surface rounded out under him, staring up with wide eyes as his brother hovered over him with a cheery grin.

“Got you!” Hashirama grinned wider and dropped.

Tobirama rolled out of the way with a startled yelp but the rounded floor meant he didn’t go far. Hashirama landed on him with all the grace of a falling branch and just as heavy, knocking the wind out him and stunning him for the crucial seconds Hashirama spent wrapping around him like an overlarge limpet. He barely budged when Tobirama spitefully jammed an elbow in his kidney.

“Let go! I don’t want to talk!” Tobirama snarled, thrashing and kicking as best he could under his brother’s bulk.

“We’re not talking, we’re cuddling,” Hashirama pointed out. “Got nothing to do with talking at all. You’re the one talking.”

Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play it, Tobirama would play along. He pursed his lips shut and glared at Hashirama, chin jutted stubbornly. Hashirama for his part just drew him closer and hummed contentedly into his hair, gradually relaxing, breathing going slow and deep.

Tobirama resisted the urge to squirm. This seemed suspicious; it wasn’t like Hashirama to give up so early. But he was just, laying on top of him. Doing nothing. Eyes closed, body relaxed and— Shit! He was meditating! He desperately tried to wriggle to freedom but it was too late; Hashirama started radiating chakra laced with love and contentment and, ugh, gross.

Tobirama involuntarily relaxed, scowling in outrage.

“I’m not a baby, you can’t keep doing this!” Tobirama tried to shove his brother off but his limbs refused to cooperate, having turned to noodles on him. Shit, why did he leave Churippu behind?

“But Tobi,” Hashirama tucked Tobirama’s head further under his chin, “I just want to make you feel better. You used to love when I did this. It always put you right to sleep after nightmares.” Yes, right up until the River Incident—then they were both too angry and guilty to stand each other.

“I will bite you,” Tobirama growled. Hashirama hastily rolled them over so Tobirama was less pressed against his throat and more buried against his chest where the angle for biting was bad and muffled by layers of cloth.

Really, it was difficult to muster up even that much animosity. Hashirama was projecting hard and he couldn’t help sinking into it, all those soft, warm feelings meant just for him. Like cuddling up with Botan without the extra set of arms. Except it wasn’t Botan, it was his brother whom he missed and had been missing for a long time now and really, damn that cat for bringing it all up again when he thought he’d long made peace with it all.

“Want to tell me what the problem is now?” Hashirama asked gently, and Tobirama couldn’t bear to look him in the face.

“I’m going to outlive you,” he said, quietly, into the folds of his brother’s shirt where he half hopes they dissolve without ever being heard.

“Um, yes? Ideally. Is that what this is about?” Hashirama said, cupping Tobirama’s face and lifting it out of his shirt to blink bewilderedly at him. Tobirama’s brows furrowed, unhappy and unwilling to explain.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Tobirama asked, sharp with upset.

“Of course not!” Hashirama hugged him tight, now looking upset himself. Which, great, he hurt his brother’s feelings, the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. “I’m your _elder_ , you’re supposed to outlive me! I mean, sure I’d be upset if I died anytime soon while you were still little,” —Tobirama scowled— “but I _want_ you to outlive me.”

“Well, it bothers me,” Tobirama said fiercely. “I don’t like the idea of life without you. You’re the only brother I have left.”

Hashirama’s face softened, eyes going warm and teary. “Oh, Otouto, I’m not going anywhere for a while yet. Promise. I’m too tough.”

Hashirama didn’t understand where this was all coming from. He _couldn’t_ understand and Tobirama refused to explain himself. Was possibly never going to explain why he was having a crisis of realized mortality like a toddler learning about loss for the first time.

The problem wasn’t about dying. It was that he was going to _live_.

“You are not, you still whine when you get splinters,” Tobirama scoffed, unable to help himself.

“I can’t help it, they hurt!”

Ah, there was the big pouting dork he knew and liked to roll his eyes at best.

“You have Mokuton, it should be a piece of cake to pull them out.” Tobirama rolled his eyes, shifting to lay beside his brother. Hashirama curled an arm around him automatically and Tobirama shamelessly treated his bicep like a pillow, knowing full well Hashirama would complain about pins and needles later.

Hashirama pouted, “That doesn’t mean I appreciate bleeding everywhere.”

Tobirama went to make a crack about it not being _that_ much blood except the very idea of him bleeding at all made a lump rise in his throat, and he closed his mouth before he could choke on it. Hashirama must have seen something on his face because his own crumpled in concern again, and no, _no_ , _no_.

“Anija, you have to promise me you’ll never sacrifice yourself for me.” Tobirama laid a hand over his brother’s mouth when he made to protest, trying to impress upon him the seriousness with which he meant his request. “I’m a lot tougher than you-” _and I can get away from tight spots where you can’t_ “-so you need to trust me, trust that I’ll survive, okay?”

“Tobirama—”

“Because you are not allowed to die, Hashirama.” _Not you too._ “Not until you’re at least fifty! You have to meet your grandchildren.”

“Okay—?”

“And I want to be made an uncle as soon as possible so you should get on that,” Tobirama nodded decisively over Hashirama spluttering. Strange to think how much _time_ he had now; how did civilians deal with the looming future? It was awful.

To live every day as if it were their last was the shinobi way. To treat any vaguely constructed purpose as if it were good enough to die for was their creed, because at any moment they might die for no purpose at all. But time was no longer slipping away for Tobirama, it was slowing to a crawl. He was freed from the desperate race and could now only helplessly watch on as everyone else sped ahead without him.

He understood now, why Otsuno-shishou never returned the temple to the Ningenkai. Why would he torment himself when the volcano provided such a handy excuse to disappear?

Hmm, Hashirama was spluttering an awful lot—

“You already found someone!” Tobirama said with hushed delight.

“What? No! I didn’t say anything? I thought we were talking about you!” Hashirama started eyeing the walls like he was thinking of climbing them. Tobirama rolled back on top of him to nip that in bud, this was too interesting not to poke at.

“Tell me everything,” Tobirama demanded. “You’re hopeless so I need to know in advance before you make a fool of yourself. You have to wait until they’re trapped by matrimony to do that.”

“Otouto, that’s mean!” Hashirama flushed.

“It’s not Ahana, is it? I know you had a crush on her once. Terrible decision on your part, she has no head for leadership, but if you absolutely must pursue happiness with her I suppose I can put up with it for your sake—”

“It’s Mito!”

“What?”

 


	45. The old that is strong lives on pickles

 

_“It’s Mito!”_

_“What?”_

* * *

After the tumult of the last few days, spending the day with Elder Akahiko and Higanbana was a blessed relief. The house was usually quiet, and full of enough incense to keep the air clean of intrusive chakric imprints. The only thing he had to worry about was Higanbana snapping at his fingers when he messed up on her strings too many times in a row, as was inevitable.

No having to think about the future, or dragons, or shady octopus gods, or even Hashirama having a huge crush on one of the few people Tobirama thought were, dare he say, cool.

Just strings and notes and keeping in rhythm—

“I heard you were sick on your last mission,” Akahiko said out of the blue, while Tobirama was picking and wincing his way through a new song. He promptly fumbled his fingerwork, looking up at the old man cautiously, not believing that to be an innocent comment for a second.

Higanbana stuck a tongue out at him for messing up, willing to forgive this once since it was her human who did the interrupting.

“Yes,” he said cautiously. “Just a bit of upset stomach, nothing serious.” Not as much as he’d made out at the time, at least; turtle would always turn his stomach.

Akahiko nodded, long mustache catching on his kimono that he corrected with an absent flick. “You know what you need? Pickled cabbage. You wouldn’t have these gut problems if you just had a little more pickled cabbage in your diet.”

“If you say so,” Tobirama managed politely, turning his attention back to the koto and hoping he remembered where he was in the song. Higanbana helpfully hummed a few notes to remind him.

“If anything,” Akahiko continued, “I’m as hale as I am today because I eat a healthy amount of pickled cabbage. It’s full of those, oh what are they called—probiotics! Good for your gut.”

Tobirama hummed to seem like he was listening, carefully picking his way through the tricky pattern he fumbled before, adding a strum to the other end with satisfaction. Higanbana hummed along happily, turning the strings warm or cold to let him know when he placed his fingers correctly.

“Actually, it’s about lunch time,” Akahiko said, squinting at the shadows cast by the light through the windows and groaned to his feet. “Why don’t we take a break from your atrocious fingerwork and I’ll get you a serving.”

“What?” Tobirama scowled, slightly offended; he wasn’t that bad! Then the other part of that sentence registered and he yelped, “What?” _Oh gods no._ “That’s not necessary!”

“Not by itself, obviously.” Akahiko rolled his eyes, shuffling into the kitchen. Tobirama watched him go with a fair amount of alarm, then silently scrambled for the nearest window. “I’ve got some leftover stir fry that pairs quite nicely, and don’t even think about it, brat.”

Tobirama froze, halfway out. He glanced back; maybe if he made it break for it…?

Higanbana was glaring at him.

“Get in here. Now.”

_Damn it._

* * *

“I see you ran afoul of Grandfather’s idea of home remedies.” Touka smirked, having tracked him down at a training field. Tobirama resisted the urge to chuck the whetstone at her face. Mostly because Touka repaid infractions to her person tenfold and that was always a bad time.

She’d probably steal his whetstone too.

“I see you’re still an unholy demon reveling in the suffering of others,” Tobirama muttered spitefully, setting the kunai aside and reaching for another, testing the edge with a thumb.

Touka sighed happily and reached out, viper quick, to flick his nose. “And don’t you forget it.”

 _Like you ever let me,_ Tobirama fumed, absolutely refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him rub his now stinging nose.

“Anyway, I did come out here for a reason.” Touka fished a letter out of her haramaki and dangled it just out of reach, the bright green ink seal pressed with the Inoue crest easily visible. “Now what are you doing exchanging letters with Inoue, I wonder. Didn’t you say he was an asshole? Unless you are just sending him periodic reminders that we have him by the short and curlies, in which case, good on you, little cousin.”

Tobirama huffed and stood to snatch the letter. “The only reason I’d waste perfectly good ink and paper on the likes of him is if I were sticking an explosive tag to his _face_.” He added reluctantly, _knowing_ Touka would make something of it, “I struck up an...amiable acquaintanceship with his daughters. They’re alright.”

He also thought they’d be discreet and send their reply back with the tatarimokke he sent the initial letter with in the first place. Was this part of their greater plot against their father, some statement they were making? He sincerely hoped so because it had been an ordeal and a half finding a tatarimokke in the first place.

There was no telling which newborn cousin was possessing the owl, and little point in looking. Not only did the babe not know its own name, but there was a very good chance it hailed from one of the many periods in Senju history where dead infants were simply stricken from records. No point in remembering dead ends, right? Not unless you could hold them up as a reason to fan the flames of war.

He was not expecting Touka to suddenly squish his cheeks and coo, looking delighted and only a bit mean.

“Look at you, talking to girls!” She grinned widely, her teeth very bright against the dark plum of her lipstick. “Guess Hashirama wasn’t entirely blustering out his ass about you feeling your hormones.”

Tobirama went limp in her hold; she let go in surprise and he rolled out of reach, miffed.

“I’m _networking_ ,” he corrected irritably. “Hashirama doesn’t know his elbow from a branch, I don’t know why you’re listening to him. My hormones are _fine_.”

“Oh, fine,” Touka rolled her eyes. “Insist on being boring, then. But when you’re interesting in tips on how to flirt with girls you know where to find me.”

Tobirama unslung the snoozing Churippu from his wrist and waved her, deadpan.

“Begone, demon,” he said flatly. “You have traumatized me with your sex life enough.”

Touka gave him a look that said there would assuredly be more trauma to come and he would hate every second of it. Tobirama watched her leave, warily. Well fuck, he was going to have to watch his back for awhile, wasn’t he?

 _/letter?/_ Churippu wound her tail in and around his fingers, head swaying like a curious snake.

Tobirama dug his thumb into the wax and popped the seal, fishing out the fine parchment.

_Dear Tobi,_

_Our health has been quite well, thank you for asking. Things have been quite exciting since we saw you last, we’ve been having a lot of fun. Father is feeling stressed now that he is the one who must collaborate with the Minister of Trade what with the Akimichi gone, rude as that is to mention in a letter between friends. His river barges are now the center of trade until the rest of the network recovers, and the power vacuum settles. He’s a very keen man, the Minister of Trade. Reads slow, but asks very pointed questions. He’s a retired samurai too, and he has such interesting stories to tell. Even ones of Senju!_

_Unfortunately, his personality is a little strong for Father’s poorly state. We can only hope to improve this._

_Warmest Regards_

_Junko and Aiko_

_P.S. It was very thoughtful of you to enquire about the bird that got stuck in our well. Sadly, we cannot get him out ourselves but we’re doing what we can to keep him comfortable. Poor thing might have to wait until next you visit to get him out. In the meantime, he has a very pretty song._

_Oh_ , Tobirama carefully folded the letter, thinking hard. They were playing a dangerous game, the sisters, if he was reading between the lines right. They might come out unscathed if they ruin their father’s name publically, or they might tar themselves with his ill reputation if it backfires on them. Then again…

The Minister of Trade, if he remembered right, was Hisakawa Souhei. An old name, an _honorable_ name. They might be banking on his sense of honor to keep them in the clear if they spun it right. Which they probably can, he acknowledged, they certainly have enough evidence from the way they were raised, never mind what they knew of his shinobi hiring practises.

As for Osafumi… Tobirama grimaced, that was a _no_ to his question, or at least a _not any time soon._

Damn and blast, the Uchiha was probably helping them. Small wonder.

 


	46. All rivers return to the sea

 

_As for Osafumi… Tobirama grimaced, that was a no to his question, or at least a not any time soon._

_Damn and blast, the Uchiha was probably helping them. Small wonder._

* * *

Tobirama lifted his face into the breeze coming off the ocean, salt-tinged and spring chill, relishing in the cool air that even now was reddening his nose. The surf broke around his bare toes, the tabi and sandals discarded further up the shore in favor of walking barefoot. On the horizon the sun began to sink out of view, warm orange shading into bright pinks and brilliant purples.

For all the heavy choices to be made he felt surprisingly light.

“You don’t have to do this yet.” Otsuno broke the silence, gazing blankly out at the horizon with something like reproach.

“I know I don’t, Shishou,” Tobirama replied. He fiddled with Churippu’s tassel contemplatively, eyes downcast. “I _have_ put a lot of thought into this. I think it’s been a long time coming now.”

“Eight months is a blink to dragons as old as they, could have left them waiting longer,” Otsuno grumbled. “My Lord would deserve it.”

“But for how long?” Tobirama gently unlooped Churippu from his wrist, cradling her in his hands. “I’m in limbo now but it won’t last forever, something has to give. I know my reasons for refusing but I can’t say I know enough to accept. If I don’t like what they have to say then I’ll accept the Akkorokamui’s offer and get everything removed, and damn the consequences. Even if it means getting barred from the Temple for the offense—-”

A hand cupped the back of his hand, guiding him to look up at the priest, a fierce look on his face. “I would never let you be barred from this Temple. You are my student, no claim gets between that. Anyone who says different can fight me.”

Tobirama swallowed, a lump rising in his throat that he determinedly forced back down. That was...a lot to take in. Shinobi didn’t— do that, go against their liege lord, go against the collective, like that. It was unthinkable. Not with the way chakra bound them together.

Something must have shone on his face because Otsuno withdrew with one last comforting squeeze, looking as tired as he’s ever seen him. Almost as much as their last conversation where he finally came clean and his teacher confessed to have knowing for some time. Even now the shame of it still sat heavy in his gut; knowing his teacher had known that he was if not purposefully lying then at least hiding things from him.

Otsuno rubbed his face tiredly, “And we can’t trust Akkorokamui to be telling the truth in the first place, he doesn’t exactly have a reputable name.”

Tobirama wrinkled his nose, guiltily glad at the change in subject if not at the information offered. “Isn’t he a god of healing and purification and whatnot?”

“He’s an octopus,” Otsuno said dryly. “Every time he mates he loses his memory and develops a new personality. They’re not always nice ones either, he’s been a kraken quite a few times. I’ve heard some hair-raising things about him.”

“Ah.” That would explain some of the odder comments the god made. “That’s—that’s fine. I can work with that. I only need the chance of an out, not a guarantee. You’ll take care of them while I’m gone, won’t you?”

They both glanced up the beach where Botan was curled up in the sand and sobbing inconsolably. Izuna was perched on top of him and seemed to be weeping loudly out of solidarity. It was a mess. They winced.

Otsuno sighed and accepted a droopy Churippu. “Hurry back. Please.”

* * *

Tobirama set his eyes on the horizon and started walking.

He didn’t look back.

For one it would be a stupid way to trip. Walking on the sea was a whole different beast to the rivers he’d grown up with. Rivers didn’t have shores the way seas do, didn’t have the same push-pull rhythm, didn’t have waves in quite the same way. He had to wade in to knee level before he was sure the movement of swash and backwash wouldn’t pull the water right out from under his feet like a fish infested carpet.

Otsuno would waste no time laughing at him if he took a tumble in such a ridiculously stupid way, and he wasn’t Hashirama who willingly made a goof of himself to cheer people up, thank you.

The setting sun was in his eyes and the moon long risen was at his back and out on the water the sea and sky swallowed the horizon endlessly, simultaneously too wide to comprehend and yet closing in around him. Above and below was dark blue, and purple, and streaks of orange and pink as one reflected the other in an endless rippling mirror, and the world narrowed down to the focus point of the shrinking sun, the wind was high and cold and the world _aligned just_ **_right_ ** —

Then it jarred out of focus and the world was wrong again, a ringing building in his ears like a sensory headache. A wave of dizziness overtook him and he stumbled, nearly falling over.

_What the hell was that?_

“You have crossed the Coral Boundary.”

Tobirama spun to find Ryuichi gazing down at him, standing on the water with nary a ripple to mark his emergence. He looked much like he remembered, armored and silk-clad and intimidating. Somehow, pinned under that intense red stare, Tobirama couldn’t but feel he’d massively miscalculated his approach.

Ryuichi seemed to be expecting a response to his statement so Tobirama nodded politely. “I came to talk to you.”

“A curious endeavor,” Ryuichi tilted his head fractionally in what Tobirama hoped was curiosity. Ryuichi was as inscrutable as still water and no doubt twice as dangerous. “One might wonder what value you place on this sword’s opinion.”

“I...had hoped to discuss the claim laid on me,” Tobirama said, unsure if he was responding to rhetorical statement or not. “I’m still undecided on the matter. I thought maybe if I talked to someone who wasn’t invested in me either way it would provide a clearer...picture.” He trailed off almost meekly as Ryuichi’s eyes narrowed.

“There are more people than you think invested in you,” Ryuichi said simply.

“O—kay?” Tobirama said, confused. Was there no part of this conversation that wouldn’t leave him wrongfooted? “Is this you refusing an unbiased assessment of the situation?” Unbiased being a relative term in this case.

Ryuichi crossed his arms and Tobirama eyed him apprehensively the entire time like a rabbit in front of a hawk. Ryuichi gave the impression of being bigger than he looked even at a height of a mortal man, bigger and infinitely more dangerous.

“Uten insulted many doing as he chose.” Ryuichi said, laying every word as precisely as a stonemason at his craft. “There were some already petitioning Her Majesty to be allowed to succor you; it was a most embarrassing loss of face to admit an Elder’s lack of decorum. We are still soothing tempers.”

That...was news to Tobirama. And incredibly aggravating.

Ryuichi continued, “You are an almost complete unknown to Us save for what character assessment Uten supplied. The Priest was marginally more helpful before the suborning of his word was made known to him and he near ceased communication in anger. This sword does know that you would not have sought us of your free will and resent Us for the presumption. Not a good or trustworthy basis for a healthy alliance that one can see.”

“So, I’m a problem,” Tobirama concluded, folding his hands in thought, tapping fingertips to his mouth. “I should refuse the claim.” And if that tasted bitter in his mouth that was no one’s business but his. He should be glad even, he had enough to deal with already without throwing nigh immortal politics on top.

“You...are very small and feral,” Ryuichi offered after some consideration.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Tobirama burst out, perhaps unwisely but his temper was rising and Ryuichi was turning out to be surprisingly unhelpfully and unmercifully cryptic. “Is that a further detraction or just an observation that displeases you? I’ll have you know I am a perfectly normal height for my age and species, and if you find my manner displeasing than all the better we part ways for good!”

Ryuichi moved and Tobirama flinched despite himself, but all Ryuichi did was lay a hand on his head. He tensed, unsure what the dragon was doing.

“You are very small and feral,” Ryuichi repeated, “and the Elder is very old and doting. It has been some time since the Clan has had a child to call its own. It seems a shame to just let you go.”

Tobirama angrily ducked out from under the hand, “There’s no sense keeping me, I’m a political mess for you! Plus, I’ve yet to hear anything that would make _me_ want to be a dragon in the first place.”

Ryuichi gazed at him, impassive and terrifying and unreadable, and surely, _surely_ , this was enough, he’d heard enough—

“A family who will not die on you.”

And all the breath left him with a shocked hiss.

 


	47. A dragon grasps a pearl

_“A family who will not die on you.”_

_And all the breath left him with a shocked hiss._

* * *

“That,” Tobirama managed through a strangled snarl, “was a _low blow_. How dare you—” _say that— suggest that I would be so fickle— imply they would die so easily—! How dare you hit where it hurts._

Ryuichi shifted his weight. Watching him. “It was the only one you might respect. Were you the type swayed by wealth, power, and knowledge alone you wouldn’t still be asking how joining Us would benefit you.” He paused thoughtfully. “This sword offers apologies if this one stepped too far. Conversing as mere mortals do is...restrictive. So much missing nuance.”

How very burdensome for him, Tobirama thought uncharitably, as though he hadn’t implied his family was somehow less for being mortal to his face.

“Ah, this sword stepped very far indeed.” Ryuichi murmured and Tobirama uncomfortably realized that even if he wasn’t reaching out to the dragon the way he did with his tsukumogami the same couldn’t be said of Ryuichi. With a deep breath that was more shaky than he’d prefer, he wrestled his temper aside and pulled his chakra back under his skin. Little eddies dancing around his feet that he hadn’t even noticed smoothed back into stillness.

“Okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “Okay, so you want to press the claim regardless of the political fallout, is that what you’re saying? It seems risky.”

“You are imagining a bigger situation than there actually is,” Ryuichi said, still infuriatingly calm. “There is only the one whose agitation is serious.”

“Don’t underestimate what one person can do,” Tobirama muttered, rubbing his face to relieve the aching tension building in his jaw. “Or small grievances in the long run.”

“This one thanks you for the advice,” Ryuichi said, too solemn by half not to sound mocking. Tobirama glared in response. “Perhaps it will set you at ease to meet him.”

“Meet him?” Tobirama was immediately wary. “Who? And where?”

“This one is told you have met him before, in passing, but left a favorable impression nonetheless,” Ryuichi said, glancing at the horizon. The sun was nearly set, the last of it’s light lingering in purple hues smeared across the sky. “As for where… surely you can guess.”

Oh, he had guesses alright. Or, rather, one very good guess that he was side eying warily and wishing he can fling a kunai at.

“I’m sure there are things more foolish than going to an unknown location to meet an unknown person with someone you aren’t sure of in the first place, but to be honest none come to mind right now.” Tobirama assumed a bland expression and folded his hands in front of himself, the better to assume a position to make handsigns in a hurry.

“And yet, you want answers.” Ryuichi leaned back on his heels and regarded him patiently.

And yet. That was the kicker. Tobirama did want answers, and he did want to see this mess first-hand because apparently getting information out of Ryuichi was like pulling teeth. Actually, it was probably more frustrating than pulling teeth; at least people in pain tended to babble in the hopes you went away.

“I have no way of getting there,” Tobirama pointed out, resigned to...maybe seeing this through. Though, no matter how peaked his curiosity was the simple fact of the matter was Ryugu-jo was deep underwater. Forget breathing; the sheer pressure might kill him.

Ryuichi swept a silk-clad arm out and the ocean frothed under their feet, seafoam churning and twisting and eddying. Tobirama rocked back on his heels, wide eyed and wary, as decipherable symbols began to take form around them. In a matter of moments a Summoning array spread out on the water, foamy lines swaying with the unceasing movement of the waves.

Then Ryuichi brought his arm back in and the seal sank out of sight, swept away in the tide. “This sword would be a poor guard if this one could not escort visitors. If you wish it of course. This sword would understand if you need more time.”

“And if I can’t breathe underwater?” Tobirama managed through a dry throat, blinking the image of the seal out of his mind’s eye. Well, if ever he was looking for a demonstration of the dragon’s power to validate all the awe he’s seen them held in, that was it.

“Such is no issue in Ryugu-jo,” Ryuichi declared with a rather satisfied air. “Her Imperial Majesty is prepared to host all manner of guests, however they may breathe. There is no need to worry about drowning. Now, easily startled koromodako on the other hand...”

Tobirama grimaced and said dryly, “I think I’ve had enough of being chewed on to last a lifetime.”

“Your definition of a lifetime, and this sword’s definition of a lifetime are vastly different.” Ryuichi tucked his hands in his sleeves and Tobirama wished he could the same. February night chill had set in and the sea breeze and spray were only making it worse. “But nonetheless, we are in agreement on this sentiment. It is...irritating.”

Tobirama looked away, still uncomfortable with the reminder, however unintentional, of outliving his present instead of the present outliving him.

“The night is getting cold, Tobirama of Clan Senju.” A hand tilted his chin up, catching Ryuichi’s gaze, inscrutable and disquieting as a puddle of blood. “And there are warm hearths that await you.” There was a question there he couldn’t quiet discern.

“This sword awaits your choice.”

Tobirama took a shaky breath.

“You’re asking a lot of trust from someone who has none to offer.”

The corner of Ryuichi’s eyes crinkled, like a smile.

“What is trust but forgetting to check behind you,” Ryuichi shrugged like a rolling tide, like he expected to still be long and sinuous in the motion. It was less disconcerting than it could have been for all it’s resemblance to the Bukan Clan’s unsettling reptilian nature.

Tobirama let out a startled laugh despite himself, “An entirely foolish thing to be sure.”

“To be sure,” Ryuichi echoed. “One supposes much is being asked of you.”

“You haven’t actually asked me anything the entire time,” Tobirama said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “Not outright. Not even once.”

“A poor sword, who has to ask questions,” Ryuichi said serenely. “But if you require it then just this once. Are you willing, Senju Tobirama?”

Tobirama rubbed his forehead, brows furrowed, wondering if he actually did have the patience for yet more being led around by cryptic old people. The exhaustion of it weighed heavy in his temples and dragged at his shoulders. He just didn’t understand what they wanted, what they were even getting out this exchange.

But it was now or never, and if they didn’t cough up what he wanted to hear then he’d keep demanding answers until they did.

“As willing as I can manage under the circumstances,” Tobirama said eventually. “You’re not very good at this straightforward thing, are you?”

“Not at all,” Ryuichi smiled.

The he swept his arms out and the ocean churned under them. Foamy lines rising to the surface, lit with an eerie glow that turned the ocean glassy. Tobirama could see the very tops of the coral reef, red and white and yellow and _alive_ , before the glow became blinding and he had to cover his eyes. The light grew so bright he could see the veins in his eyelids, could feel it in his _bones_ like heat, like energy—

—the ocean abruptly vanished. He was floating exactly three inches above a hard glassy surface for all of heartbeat and then he was falling, jarring his ankles all the way up to his knees and stumbling to the floor.

The floor that was made of pure crystal. Somehow. Last Tobirama read crystals didn’t grow this big.

The sealing array etched into the floor and the grooves filled in with shiny purple enamel was a nice touch though; useful and pretty. In an extravagant royalty kind of way.

“It is inadvisable to linger in the receiving chamber,” came Ryuichi’s amused voice from overhead. “Lest one wishes to be abruptly kicked in which case this sword will dutifully standby.”

Tobirama tried not wobble obviously. “That was…”

“An acquired taste, yes,” Ryuichi nodded, once.

Something caught the dragon’s eye down the hallway and his eyes narrowed, faintly displeased.

Tobirama peered around the doorway cautiously, prepared to jerk back at the first sign of projectiles. Probably not an intruder but also probably not human friendly. The breath caught in his throat.

A broad frame striding down the hallway with intent. A flash of red hair. A fierce, hairy face and  arms scarred from hooks and sharp-toothed fish.

“Finally showed up with my grandboy, did you?” The burly redhead demanded.

 


	48. In the Estuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At fucking last, amirite?

_A broad frame striding down the hallway with intent. A flash of red hair. A fierce, hairy face and  arms scarred from hooks and sharp-toothed fish._

_“Finally showed up with my grandboy, did you?” The burly redhead demanded._

* * *

Tobirama rocked back on his heels in surprise, “It’s you!”

“Surprised to see me, lad?” The fisher grinned. “I haven’t seen you since ol’ Wheezing Scales lured you out to the coast. Have you gotten taller or is that my imagination?”

Tobirama honestly had no idea what to say to that beyond, perhaps, kicking the man in the shins for the height crack. Wait, no, he wanted to know where he got off calling him his ‘grandboy’ because that was certainly out of left field. And presumptuous as hell from his perspective.

“Please do recall we are your liege lords,” Ryuichi actually sighed.

The fisher instantly rounded on him, “Oh, you have my liege alright. I’ll shove it straight up your—!”

“This one supposes the important part is that we _do_ have it.” If Ryuichi had an iota less poise he’d be rolling his eyes.

“And you’re in a flimsy ass boat about it, snatching my grandboy without so much as a heads up!” The fisher fumed. “What, you don’t give _family_ a heads up anymore, aye?”

“I beg your pardon.” Tobirama said flatly.

The fisher shushed him.

“The relation is too distant to acknowledge as mortals reckon it.” Ryuichi stated, folding his arms with a stern countenance.

“Oh, bull!” The fisher sneered. “I still count as his grandsire by the way we reckon it.”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Tobirama cut in icily. “You, sir, are not my grandfather, or any relation I know. My father’s father was Senju Kenma, and my mother’s father was Hatake Adohira, and _you_ are neither of them.”

The fisher blinked at him and turned to the dragon instead, “Bit o’ a spitfire, isn’t he?”

Ryuichi took a careful breath. “Uzumaki, this is a delicate—”

“ _You’re_ an Uzumaki?” Tobirama said skeptically. The burly man certainly had the look about him, and the attitude that bowled right over others like a tide over loose sand. Both ways.

“ _An_ Uzumaki?” The fisher reared back in offense, beard fairly bristling. “Of all the notions! I’m _the_ Uzumaki, I bleedin’ begat the line! I’m Uzumaki the shojo!”

Tobirama… blinked. “You’re who the what.”

The fisher spluttered.

“It is as you were told, Uzumaki.” Ryuichi smiled serenely. “This sword believes this calls for more comfortable surroundings if you insist on this discussion.”

* * *

“Okay, explain this to me in small words because I’ve had enough run around for one day.” Tobirama clutched his tea like a drowning man gripped a lifeline. Viciously and with desperation. Fully prepared to kick anyone to approach.

“Feh! You tried to get Ryuichi here to explain something?” The supposed Uzumaki snorted. “He talks with his mouth last and even then hardly at all. You can tell what form he was birthed in, that’s for damn sure.”

Tobirama stared at him; placid and expectant.

“Alright, alright, put the fish eyes away!” The fisher groaned, sagging in his seat. “How much do you know? Did someone remember to give you the adoption metaphor yet? Be a shame if they haven’t. That’s a classic.”

Tobirama’s scowl deepened by increments with every word. “Uten laid a claim on me without going through the ‘usual channels’, as I understand it. I also understand it caused a bit of a mess, politically. I’m told ‘the Clan’ is loathe to rescind the claim despite the mess.”

“That’s it?” Uzumaki exclaimed. He turned to Ryuichi, flapping a hand at Tobirama. “That’s _it?!_ That’s not enough to fill a _thimble_ let alone a head!” Ryuichi coolly ignored him and wordlessly offered a plate of gaily colored, coral shaped wagashi to the _invited_ guest who waved them away. “Ignore me not, Sword! I’m right and you know it!”

“How about,” Tobirama interrupted testily, “you explain yourself _first_ , before you go throwing stones.” At this point he was hanging onto his temper by the skin of his teeth, and if the cagey bastard tried to shush him _again_ then the wagashi plate was going through his _skull_. With interest.

Both Ryuichi and Uzumaki gave him sharp looks. He tamped his chakra down further behind his shields, just in case they picked up on the implicit threat. No need to warn them that much.

“Oi, don’t get testy. I’m an old man,” Uzumaki grumbled, crossing his arms with a casual slouch in his seat. “It’s real simple. When a youkai and a human love each other very, very much—” Tobirama’s shoulder twitched with the suppressed urge to throw his teacup “—they beget a hanyou bloodline. Said bloodline takes it’s progenitor’s name for ease of identification, and there you go. I’m your grandfather.”

“Uzumaki.”

“We covered that, aye.”

“Red haired _sea witches?_ ”

“It sounds derogatory when you say it like that, but aye.”

Tobirama frowned down at his tea, restlessly turning the cup in his hands to match his churning thoughts. He was torn on how to react. Truthfully, he didn’t know enough, or trust them enough, to say if it was true or not. Uzumaki, if that was even his real name, was yet another cryptic weirdo trying to insert himself in his life without so much as a by your leave and… hang on.

“Is this relevant?” Tobirama finally asked, looking up.

“Yes!” Uzumaki exclaimed at the same time Ryuichi said, “No.” Uzumaki rounded on the dragon again. “Yes, it is! As his nearest youkai kin I should have had right of say! Instead you pull this shady bullshit, and show no remorse!”

“It is convention, not law,” Ryuichi said tightly. “Contacting kin is unnecessary if the relation is distant enough that the child in question recognizes neither your kinship nor your authority as an elder of his line. Which it _is_ in this case, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Oh, well, that’s just convenient for you, _Prince_ , let’s you sidestep showing some common frickin’ decency to your subjects. Oh no, clearly you’re above the _conventions_ of the common people—”

“Do not put words upon this sword that were not said. You are twisting things to suit your temper.”

“ _I’m_ twisting things? _I’m_ twisting things. That’s just fair wonderful; takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

Tobirama pursed his lips and set his cup down with a decisive ‘ _clink!’_ , more than fed up with being ignored. Eyeing the way Ryuichi and Uzumaki were turned to hiss in each other’s face carefully, he stood up and ghosted from the room on soundless feet. Let them argue themselves blue in the face. Tobirama wanted to be down before midnight thank you very much.

He glance up and down the hallway, a touch nervous. The walls, floor, and ceiling that he’d seen so far was some kind of opaque crystal, fitted together without seams. Only the floors were smooth and polished, the walls and ceiling rough like the conchoidal fracture of quartz. Fine lines were smoothed into the walls here and there, filled with enamel in hues of black, purple, gold, and the occasional touch of blue and red to resemble colorful ink paintings. Some of them were even recognizable as characters, spelling out whimsical poetry, the rest depicted strange landscapes and stranger beings.

The whole place was lit by a muffled glow from within the ceiling, like a vein of gold not yet brought to the surface.

Tobirama cautiously cast his senses out, patiently parsing through the hub of activity expected of a palace. His shoulders tensed when he felt the one he was looking for was actually quite close. Possibly waiting for him for when Ryuichi finished?

He went left.

It only took stopping passing servants for directions twice before Tobirama firmly settled on the opinion that Ryugu-jo was deliberately built to be frustrating, and it’d be admirable if he weren’t on the wrong end of it. Where did they find this much crystal anyway? Surely, it wasn’t formed by natural means. It’s color was too pure.

The correct door, splashed with red enamel in bold lines, led to a chamber of sorts. The far wall was clear crystal, dark with deep water. Floor pillows and low tables were scattered about every which way, clearly intended for leisurely lounging.

There was only one occupant.

Tobirama let the door close and bowed.

“Your Majesty.”

 


	49. That which is more precious than pearls

_There was only one occupant._

_Tobirama let the door close and bowed._

_“Your Majesty.”_

* * *

“Senju Tobirama.”

Ryuuko faced the window, one elbow propped on a low table, the many layers of her kimonos fanned around her feet. Her white hair was down and long, sweeping the floor, save her bangs that were pulled into a bun on the back of her head and held in place by a crown of spiky shells.

She turned her head just enough to make it obvious she was looking at him. “Finished so soon?”

“Ryuichi-denka is bit distracted.” Tobirama rolled back on his heels to lean against the door. “It didn’t seem worth it to wait.”

Ryuuko tsked. “It’s that fisherman again, isn’t it? Honestly, it’s as if Our Own likes arguing with him. We wonder if We should start suggesting Our Own take him to a bedroom at this rate.” She turned to look at him properly when he failed to completely stifle a noise at that. “You don’t have to linger over there. Come, sit with Us. We are not bad company if We say so Ourselves.”

Tobirama cautiously picked his way around the scattered pillows. Politely skirting around so Ryuuko wouldn’t have to twist to see him, he picked a blue one just out of arm’s reach. If the obvious caution bothered Ryuuko, she didn’t show it. “They’re... flirting? Shouldn’t that…”

“Bother Us?” She finished lightly. “We spoke in jest. The problem is, they are usually correct enough to make an argument worthwhile. It is rare We can simply hush them without issue. Uzumaki has a _gift_ for riling Our Own, and that _is_ bothersome.”

Tobirama felt an unwanted pang of sympathy. By no means was it the same situation, Ryuichi and Uzumaki were aggravated certainly, but not truly _hostile_ , but he could all too easily empathize with not wanting to deal with people when they felt argumentative. As hypocritical as that felt, given how prone he himself was to arguing.

“But you didn’t come to Us for palace gossip, did you, child?” She continued, still in that light tone. “Speak; that you may be heard.”

Tobirama had questions upon questions to ask. It felt like he’d been doing nothing but think them up in lists lately, every spare moment he had. And yet, what came tumbling out of his mouth was, “I still don’t understand any of this.”

“About the offer of adoption?” Ryuuko asked.

“Yes,” Tobirama said reluctantly. “I don’t— I still don’t understand why. I mean, what’s in it for you? What’s in it for me? Aren’t I… too old to adopt?”

Ryuuko looked at him for a long moment, plucked, round brows drawn together, “What makes you say you are too old?”

“It’s,” Tobirama started and stopped, chewing his lip as he thought about how to word this. “It’s not that I don’t understand adoption. I do. Adopting clan orphans is very common. It’s just, they tend to be very young. If they’re old enough to look after themselves then… what’s the point of more supervision?”

“And as you are more than halfway to adulthood as humans reckon age, you are clearly capable of looking after yourself,” Ryuuko nodded, lips pursed thoughtfully. “So, in your experience, adoption is reserved for the truly helpless?”

“That...is a succinct way of putting it, yes,” he admitted. Tobirama hadn’t been considered helpless in a long, long time.

“Ah,” Ryuuko frowned, shifting to a more upright position. “We will do Our best to explain then. Listen well, there are more reasons to adopt than simply ensuring children are looked after. For instance, say you have two families, one are scribes and the other are papermakers.”

“Okay?” Tobirama could kind of guess where this was going. It was only logical that scribes were loyal customers of papermakers, and for papermakers to have good relations with scribes. An alliance of sorts would be expected no matter how paltry it might be in reality.

“Now, say the scribes have a son who isn’t suited to their trade at all,” Ryuuko continued, “He doesn’t have to be outright terrible at it mind you, just obviously not suited. His family, being kind, help him seek other trades. He apprentices to the papermakers where he thrives. Now, the papermakers have only daughters, and they would really prefer to keep their business within the family. So, they adopt their apprentice as a son and marry him to one of their daughters. Make sense so far?”

“I think so? I definitely understand the sentiment of keeping talent for the family’s sake.” After all, if someone had that much natural talent for skills unique to your family it only made sense to marry them in for the sake of stronger offspring.

Whether they were actually treated like a member of the Clan was a different matter.

“That is a good way of looking at it.” Ryuuko smiled, quick and approving. “In another instance, say you have a—a sealmaster, or a swordsman, or a philosopher even. They each come from teaching lineages that emphasize certain skills, certain worldviews, they have certain histories, certain legacies that are passed on to their successors. That is a kind of adoption, don’t you think? Maybe not inherently familial, but certainly just as formative.”

Tobirama frowned, glancing to the side, by that logic he was already adopted. Otsuno had welcomed him into _his_ teaching lineage, and it was Otsuno who’d been guiding him through the dangers of the Makai. Except, being someone’s student wasn’t the same as being their child, was it?

“Ah, but you are unhappy with that example,” Ryuuko noted.

“I can’t exactly picture myself as a priest,” came the dry retort before his brain caught up with his mouth and he suddenly hoped he wasn’t flushing.

“Oh!” Ryuuko sat up straight, blinking as if she were seeing him properly for the first time. “Oh, yes, We see. The heart of the dilemma it seems.” She surged forward and off the cushion in a movement far too sinuous and boneless to be human and Tobirama froze in half jerked back position when she grabbed his hands. “Your priest, he took you in your very first day in the Makai?”

Tobirama was growing very alarmed at Ryuuko’s enthusiasm. “Yes? How do you—?”

“We talked before Grandfather insulted him so.” Ryuuko dismissed. This close Tobirama noted she had slit pupils. “Did you ever question why he did?”

“I _asked_ ,” Tobirama said sharply, hackles rising. Otsuno did not deserve to have his honor questioned after everything he did for him. Ryuuko just grinned. “And did you ever question why he agreed?”

“Because he—!” Tobirama halted off as sudden realization kicked him in the skull. “Because… he liked me. _He liked me._ I—I never. Thought about that.” He trailed off into a sheepish, “Oh,” because, because how did he never connect the dots like this? Otsuno took him on without hesitation and Tobirama accepted it, never questioned it, and yet.

And yet.

Tobirama had to swallow down a lump in his throat.

“Yes, oh. You had but the one conversation, and yet, he did like you very much,” Ryuuko said warmly, gently tugging him back upright. “He liked you enough to want to spend years in your company, as such a discipline as Sage chakra would demand. Is that so very different from us?”

“It’s not the same,” Tobirama muttered, ducking his chin. White noise was growing in his ears and his eyes burned with a betraying prickle. He clenched his teeth so his chin wouldn’t wobble and tried to concentrate on taking even breaths.

“Oh, dear child,” Ryuuko crooned. “Of course it’s not the same. But it’s also not so different.” She reached out to cup his cheek, rubbing the pad of her thumb lightly over the bone. “We have heard so much about you, you know. Bits and pieces from Grandfather, when he can observe from afar, but mostly from your priest. He is so very, very proud of you—” Tobirama’s breath hitched. “—and he would say so every day were he not afeard of spoiling you.”

A laugh bubbled up in his throat. It came out a sob.

“It’s still not the same,” he still insisted. And it wasn’t. _It wasn’t._ “I asked him first. _I asked._ ”

“May We then?” Ryuuko shifted the hand on his cheek to under his chin and guided him to look up with gentle pressure. “May We ask you?”

“I—yes,” Tobirama managed. Ryuuko smiled.

“Senju Tobirama, We find We like you very much. Will you do Us the honor of being one of Ours?”

Tobirama couldn’t _breathe._

Finally, someone _asked first._

“I think,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind if it was you.”

 


	50. To be born anew in loving hands

_Finally, someone asked first._

_“I think,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind if it was you.”_

* * *

It takes a shamefully long time, in Tobirama’s estimation, to fully stifle the urge to cry. If he lets himself, he can almost hear his father barking that _tears are a waste of water_ in that impatient tone of his.

Bit by bit, he packs away all the emotions he can’t handle right now, shiny and sharp edged and too much. Ryuuko is patient. She moves back to her cushion, speaks in low tones about what to expect at the formal ceremony, for an occasion of rebirth is always dressed in ceremony. There is space to breathe again.

“Is taking a new name really necessary?” Tobirama asks when he has a steady voice again.

“It has political practicality,” Ryuuko said dryly. “It divorces the actions you take as one of us from the actions you take as a resident of the Ningenkai. A shinobi may kill as demanded, but a dragon cannot. We dragons pride ourselves on our honor; yet we are also wise enough to know honor is ever a warring ground between one’s practicality and one’s willingness to die.”

Tobirama tilted his head, fascinated. “I’ve never heard it put like that before. Most people I’ve heard go on about the, uh, virtuosity of it.” And how shinobi have none.

“And there is virtue in honor,” Ryuuko agreed, “just as there is virtue in knowing to be patient when it is not yet practical to exercise one’s honor. Just as there is virtue in deciding you are willing to die more than you are willing to be practical. It’s all in how important your cause is compared to your life.”

“I...know something of that.” Tobirama admitted. He cast around for a different topic when Ryuuko looked curious enough to ask. “What about this mess with Uzumaki? How much is that going to interfere?”

Ryuuko huffed, face falling into something that wasn’t quite a scowl but was distinctly displeased. “It’s Grandfather’s mess more than anything.” At Tobirama’s look she amended. “As a progenitor of a hanyou lineage of which you are a scion it is _courtesy_ that he be informed before any serious courting begins. _However_ , Grandfather claiming you as he did prevented Uzumaki from approaching you himself. We understand he capitalized on Grandfather being near you to approach you anyway, which was clever of him, even if it means he infringed rather dangerously and We would be within rights to bleed him for it.”

“Ah.” Tobirama took a second to digest that. “Ryuichi-denka seemed to think it wasn’t...” How to phrase this… “Necessary. In my case.”

“Our Own is not wrong,” Ryuuko said fondly. “He is Our Sword, to cut through all that stands in Our way. If Our Own does not need to adhere to a technicality, he will not. He’s charmingly blunt that way.”

“If you say so,” Tobirama muttered dubiously. The dragon seemed more like featureless stone and unhelpful, cryptic commentary than anything so innocuous as ‘charmingly blunt’. “Do I count as a hanyou then?”

Ryuuko hummed. “You do come from a hanyou lineage, but for practicalities sake you yourself are not hanyou. The Makai defines a hanyou as any partial-human who cannot chose to be a different youkai upon shedding their humanity. As you can, in theory, become any youkai that did not originate from an inanimate object, you are not a hanyou. This is why it was not _mandatory_ to alert Uzumaki. You are not bound to his lineage.” She paused. “That he has chosen to take offense speaks of his view of family.”

Tobirama took deep breath. “This is… a lot to take in, Your Majesty.” A bit of a polite understatement there. There was so much he was practically dizzy with it. A headache was growing out of the tension in his spine, his shoulders, the tightening around his temples.

“It is,” Ryuuko nodded in regal acquiescence. “Do you wish for time?”

“I—,” Tobirama broke off with a laugh that was only a little tight with panic. “Honestly, I think I’d change my mind if you gave me time. Let’s get this over with.”

Ryuuko was silent for a nerve-wracking moment.

Finally, she nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

“Come, let’s gather our wayward Sword and we will proceed to the ritual room.”

* * *

They met Ryuichi in the hall, trailing a faintly sheepish air. Ryuuko smiled and caressed his cheek, holding gazes and touching chakra for a long minute before Ryuichi bowed and hurried down a different hall.

Tobirama watched him disappear around a corner. “Isn’t he coming with us?”

“He’s just gone to get someone.” Ryuuko waved a dismissive hand. “We need a third participant for the ceremony. Now come, it’s just this way.”

The ritual room was an abrupt departure from the crystal of the rest of the palace. The walls were smooth, banded sandstone, and the floor was a pool of clear, briney water full of colorful coral. A brazier hung from every corner and Ryuuko swept across the room to light them, the water not even rippling under her feet. Light reached across the ceiling and cast the water in darkness, the tiers and shapes of coral a mere suggestion of form.

Tobirama had seen the ritual room in the Rishiri Temple, and the multitude of Uzu’s ritual and sealing rooms, great and small, intended for seals grand and humble alike, but this? This was like no ritual room he’d ever seen.

“You have; you just didn’t recognize them,” Ryuuko said and Tobirama belatedly realized he spoke aloud. “A ritual room intended to channel natural chakra needs an outlet to nature. Drylanders use gardens and natural clearings and caves and the like.” She turned to favor him with a satisfied smile. “It takes a little more creativity for air-breathers to do it underwater but We think we’ve managed nicely.”

Tobirama returned the smile slowly, finally leaving the doorway in favor of inspecting the room from inside. He stopped in the middle of the room when Ryuuko indicated, sinking down into seiza and grimacing at the chill of the water soaking his clothes.

A familiar chakra materializing much, much closer than it had been had him twisting to look at the door, and the familiar, if loud, sound of Otsuno questioning the sanity of everyone around him had him grinning.

“—right, alright! I know what to do!” Otsuno stomped into the room, uncaring of or simply ignoring the splashing as he approached Ryuuko and dropped into a formal bow. “Your Majesty, I humbly present myself as he who stands for the chosen’s interests.”

The ceremony had begun.

Ryuichi glided after to follow suit, cupping a jade bowl carefully. “Your Majesty, this sword humbly presents himself as he who stands for the clan’s interests.”

Ryuuko inclined her head. “She who bridges chosen to clan and clan to chosen greets you, and bid you rise, for the dawn will see a new birth.”

Otsuno and Ryuichi backed up two steps before straightening, then backing up to stand on either side of him. Tobirama glanced to Otsuno, suddenly nervous as to how he was taking this. His teacher nodded back, a quick subtle thing, before turning his full attention back to the empress. Tobirama sighed quietly in relief.

“Who presents the ink?” Ryuuko held out a hand into which Ryuichi placed the bowl.

“Who presents the needle?” Ryuuko held out her other hand into which Otsuno placed a bone needle.

Ryuuko strode forward to address him, sinking to her knees. The ink was bright red and the needle gleamed in the firelight. “Sleep, chosen, that you may be woken anew,” she commanded.

Tobirama took a careful breath and closed his eyes, reaching for the stillness of Sage meditation just like Ryuuko instructed him earlier. When the first prick of the needle came on his cheek, he didn’t feel it at all, too entranced by the bright golden warmth trickling in from the world in welcome.

With every breath he fanned the flame, built it up till he was dizzy from it. Time was measured only in the brightness of the glow, teetering on the edge of too much until a pair of hands grasped his elbows and pulled him to his feet. Disturbing the flow of chakra. Tobirama gasped and wrenched his eyes open, dazed, right cheek burning even as the Sage chakra smoothed it away. A body he recognized distantly as Ryuichi helped him stumble a circuit around the room until the feeling returned to his legs and the Sage chakra dissipated.

He was returned to his spot and Ryuichi took Ryuuko’s place in front of him. “Sleep, chosen, that you may be woken anew,” he repeated. Tobirama sank back down into darkness and bright, gold light.

Otsuno wakes him next, leading him around the room as his left cheek heals and his legs steady. His teacher takes Ryuichi’s place. “Sleep, chosen, that you may be woken anew.” he repeated.

When Ryuuko wakes him she doesn’t wait for his chakra to settle; greets his gasp to awareness with her own mouth, exhales chakra blue and Sage gold fire for him to breathe instead. It scorches his mouth, burns all the way down his throat, and kindles a blaze in his lungs. He chokes. He sobs breathlessly. He claws at his chest, feeling like he’s melting from the inside. In desperation he dunks his head in the water and three hands land on his head, his neck, between his shoulders and hold him down until he has no choice but to inhale salt water—

And the burning stops.

And he can breathe just fine.

They let him up as soon as he stops struggling. Fine trembles rack his frame and he coughs weakly, smoke trickling from his nose and his slack mouth. A new heat curls behind his breastbone and he feels almost feverish with it.

“I give to you the gift of life, Senju Tobirama,” Ryuuko murmured, brushing sodden hair out of his face to rest her forehead against his. “From this day forth you will be Haise among Us and Ours. Our allies will know you to be as precious as your namesake, and Our enemies will know you to be just as jealously guarded. Be welcome, my child.”

 


	51. Interlude of Swooping Hawks

_“From this day forth you will be Haise among Us and Ours. Our allies will know you to be as precious as your namesake, and Our enemies will know you to be just as jealously guarded. Be welcome, my child.”_

* * *

Madara just really, _really_ wanted to go back to bed at this point. Was that too much to ask of life, that the day be over yet? Surely, this could all wait til tomorrow?

But no, his father was glaring at the side of his head in that particular _don’t even conceive of leaving me to deal with this mess alone_ way of his, the kind that said he’d take a fan to his head if Madara thought about it anyway. Somehow, he _always_ knew.

Tajima turned a stony glare down at the pair who’d been caught in the hot spring, thoroughly unimpressed. Third Cousin Getsumei wilted sheepishly, tugging his shirt back on halfheartedly. In contrast, Akimichi Chouku, _Chouzaburou’s only niece_ , raised her chin mulishly, standing proudly in just her combat leggings and breast wrap, auburn hair tossed over her shoulder.

“Madara,” Tajima said flatly, folding his arms for added effect. “Go let Chouzaburou know we need to discuss a… betrothal contract concerning his heir. I believe you’ll find him with the glaziers.” He added.

 _Uh, a what now?_ Madara boggled inwardly. Personally speaking, that was not the kind of political play Madara would have chosen in response to some, uh, inappropriate tussling. Even now Getsumei was pale with sudden trepidation, no doubt remembering the Akimichi were subtly infamous for their just-shy-of berserker tempers. Madara had to give him credit for the stubborn way he firmed his jaw though.

Chouku tossed her head, thick hair flying in the kind of imperious gesture Madara wouldn’t dare try himself for fear of tangling flyaways. “Go ahead,” she dared, “you’ll be doing my work for me.”

Getsumei did a double take, a hopeful smile growing, yelping, “You really do wanna marry me?!”

Welp, no way in hell was Madara sticking around for this farce, romantic nonsense gave him hives even on the best of days. About-facing on his heel, Madara quickly walked away before Tajima could change his mind about his allotted duties and stuck _him_ with the love birds instead. _No thank you_.

From behind came a disgustingly sappy declaration of love crossing all barriers of Clan and class, and Madara prudently sped up before a bitter taste could finish forming in his mouth.

But bitterness was hard to hold in the face of the bustling smith and artisans street, a ghost town no longer, possibly livelier than it had ever been in Madara’s memory if not lifetime. The alliance has been so good for them. The _Akimichi_ have been so good for them. Privately, Madara thought it was good for his Clan to have more interaction with a Noble Clan that wasn’t the Senju; they’d been tangled up with them for so long they’d nearly forgotten what it was like not to have a feud get between reason.

Many had railed against it, he knew, insulted beyond measure under the assumption that any alliance to do with a fellow Noble Clan would see one becoming the vassal of the other. Whether that was at the Akimichi for the presumed arrogance to make _them_ a vassal or disdain the Akimichi had seemingly sunk so low as to seek patronage changed with the day, the phase of the moon, and even the weather until the hilt-clutchers calmed their asses down a tad.

Taking in the controlled frenzy of craftspeople at work, at carts full of smuggled contraband; metals, grains, cloth, hides, fine powders and sand for glass, Madara couldn’t help but feel all those detractors were fools for refusing to admit to the truth in front of them.

The Uchiha had been declining by inches, _dying by inches._

Madara swerved politely around a brightly laughing, burly Akimichi woman with a basket near overflowing with raw ore balancing on one shoulder and two squealing Uchiha girls hanging from her other arm, one in the high collar of a young kunoichi, the other in a leather smock fit for the forges.

He ended up having to skip out of the way of an oncoming cart for his troubles, but it was hard to muster any real irritation when he hadn’t seen that much pristine armor in literal _years_.

The glaziers, much like the forges, were set at the end of the street, affectionately dubbed the Hot Spot it was the best place to hang out on a chill winter’s day like this. If you didn’t mind the noise that is. Personally, Madara was too much of a scholar to linger long around so much noise and bustle, though Izuna fit right in the little swords-for-brains.

Speaking of Izuna…

A very familiar ponytail bobbed above a crowd of clamoring mixed-Clan children, one hand held above his head clutching—

Madara groaned inwardly. Not that ridiculous flash-cooled drop of glass trick! That thing was a serious shrapnel hazard! Oh, he was going to put an end to this before someone lost an eye. If they were lucky it would just be Izuna but since luck was never likely it’d inevitably be one of the little Akimichi and then they’d all be fucked.

“Izuna!” he barked, striding forward and — carefully! — snatching the glass drop, mindful of the brittle tail. “Are you trying to get someone killed?”

Izuna immediately pouted at him from behind his ridiculous work goggles that made his eyes look smaller. “Oh come on, I wasn’t gonna explode it out here. I do know better.”

“You were holding it above your head,” Madara said exasperatedly, moving to the waste-sand trough around the corner. “The slightest too strong breeze and it would’ve exploded all over you. _And_ your audience.” He lightly tossed the drop in and quickly slammed the lid down before the delicate tail felt the impact.

Izuna’s audience were clearly as safety-dumb as he was because they all groaned at ‘missing out’ on flying shrapnel and a trip to the medics. Madara despaired for their sanity.

“What are you even doing here?” Izuna complained, miffed at having his fun interrupted. He shooed his audience away with a few half hearted gestures. “Science lesson’s over kiddies. Killjoy here doesn’t _believe_ in practical experiments.” He pulled an exaggerated mournful face. “He’d rather you all be stuck reading!”

The children gasped, actually horrified.

“ _Inside_ ,” Izuna added.

“Without any pictures?” one queried in a tremulous voice. A Yamanaka by the look of him.

Izuna gravely shook his head and the children gasped louder. Madara rolled his eyes. Hard.

“Alright, shoo you brats,” Madara said impatiently, hands on his hips. “I’m sure you all have things to be doing right now.” The children promptly scattered.

Izuna sighed through his nose, glaring up at the sky like he was begging for patience. “Any particular reason you felt the need to loom, Madara?”

“Ah, yeah,” Madara self-consciously rocked back on his heels. He wasn’t really looming, was he? “Is Chouzaburou around? I was told he was and we kind of need him for a, uh, delicate matter.”

Izuna frowned. “Delicate matter?”

“Yeah,” Madara folded his arms, feeling a flush prickling across his cheeks and cursing his fair complexion. “Father found—that is, _we_ found his Heiress, uh…” he trailed off uncomfortably, suddenly wondering if he should even be speaking of this.

Especially not to Izuna. His precious _little_ brother hadn’t yet realized there was more to life than swords, exactly how Madara would prefer it for as long as realistically possible.

“Found her doing what?” Izuna asked, head cocked. Uh oh, Madara accidentally made it sound interesting.

“Um, she was… grappling without a chaperone in the hot springs,” Madara admitted, “with cousin Getsumei. You know, the one whose illusions look like childish henges?” Silently, he prayed Izuna accepted his flimsy excuse.

“Yeah, I know the guy,” Izuna squinted at him, obviously confused. “Why would you need a chaperone to grapple? I mean, you shouldn’t spar in the hot springs, there’s not enough room for that, but, why a chaperone?”

Oh fuck. It was getting flimsier by the minute.

“Just—! Nevermind that!” Madara snapped. “Do you know if Chouzaburou is around here or not?” Because Madara _definitely_ knew better than to barge into the workshops and annoy the crafters looking for him. They tended to be annoyed enough to retaliate when you did that.

“Um, he went down to Yuzumi’s bakery, like, ages ago, on the other side of the street,” Izuna not so helpfully pointed back the way Madara came.

“Thanks!” Madara tossed over his shoulder as he turned to leave, anxious to get out of this conversation.

But not fast enough not to hear Izuna connect the dots.

“Ew!” Came the gratifying response. “You could have said it was a sex thing!”

 


	52. This being born business is tiring...

_But not fast enough not to hear Izuna connect the dots._

_“Ew!” Came the gratifying response. “You could have said it was a sex thing!”_

* * *

Tobirama floated in a pool of salt water, exhausted and feverish, but triumphant.

A new fire coursed through coils, his veins, lit up the cockles of his lungs with every move and every breath, hot enough that steam trickled from his mouth and nose. It was safe and cool in the water, the fever couldn’t overwhelm, couldn’t spiral dangerously, dizzyingly high under the surface. Even the taste of salt was different now, Tobirama noted muzzily, the bitter-sharp flavor softened on his tongue and soothing in his throat.

A spectral hand dipped under the surface, waving to get his attention, and Tobirama lazily kicked upwards. Botan greeted him with a burst of joy and a slit-eyed smile, Churippu rattling in greeting from Botan’s shoulder. Tobirama smiled, faint and sleepy and steaming, and let the boroboroton tug him closer, sighing at the coolness of the hand stroking his face.

_together again!/happy/have to share now/pout_

Tobirama hummed and patted him, too wrung out to offer more than indulgent condolences for his miffed bed. His eyes were heavy and his thoughts pleasantly drowsy. The only thing keeping him from slipping back under to sleep was Botan’s grip and the lingering certainty he would drown despite recent changes to the contrary.

He let Botan pet him until the fever was practically unbearable, quietly exchanging words and emotions until he had to flee to the bottom of the pool to cool off. Curled up on the bottom the water made a pleasant weight, and before Tobirama knew it he drifted off. His last conscious thought was registering the familiar feel of wooden beads alighting on his arm.

When next he surfaced a stranger was waiting for him; an elder with white hair gathered in a topknot, his red markings just barely discernible under wrinkles and a long, thin beard. Tobirama is woozy still but something about him seems familiar in a strangely irritating way. He remembers being helped out of the pool, and laying with his head in the elder’s lap, long fingers stroking his hair as the man spoke softly while Tobirama dozed fitfully.

He thinks the man was pleased about something? He has a faint recollection of a finger tracing his new tattoos until he got annoyed enough to bat it away. And annoyed further when that only garnered a huff of amusement.

Then the fever peaked again and drove him, whimpering, back into the pool.

The next time he was mildly more coherent and Uzumaki was there instead. Then Tobirama noticed the sashimi platter next to him and promptly lost any thought beyond assuaging a hunger that was suddenly ravenous with the presence of food.

He was nearly halfway through before higher thought returned and his single-minded focus scattered enough to pay attention to his company. He tilted his head, offering, “Thanks for bringing food.”

“Eh, don’t mention it, you’re a growing boy,” Uzumaki shrugged, lounging back on an elbow, legs dangling in the pool. “Care for a word with me?”

Tobirama nodded, stuffing another slice of salmon in his mouth. And another. Gods, he was so hungry still.

“Ryuuko had some rather sharpish words for me, see,” Uzumaki started, mouth twisted pensively. “The thing is, I do know better. Most of the time.” Tobirama paused briefly in the middle of digging into a lobster tail to shoot him a confused look.

Uzumaki groaned and fell back, resting a loose fist on his forehead and gesturing in wordless frustration with the other. “It’s a fault of we Daiyoukai who’ve lived a decent year. Or, rather, say not fault but _tendency_. Past your first century and a half and you let go entirely the habit of justifying your decisions as if they weren’t pure instinct.”

“What are you saying?” Tobirama asked, discarding the lobster shell almost mournfully once there were no more morsels to be found in it and turning the platter to reach the abalone. He almost never got to have abalone outside the rare trip to Uzushio.

“I mean, that sometimes we get so caught up in what makes our instincts happy that we forget to attend to the _other_ pertinent details. Know what I’m saying?” Uzumaki beseeched.

Tobirama shoved a whole abalone in his mouth and chewed, staring unblinkingly.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Uzumaki muttered, covering his face with his hands. “This is what I get for trying to talk to you while you’re still change muddled.”

“That’s what you get for trying to pass off excuses as apologies.” Tobirama corrected. “If that’s even what you’re trying to do.” As if Tobirama hadn’t been trained since birth to be on his guard even when his mind was muddled. “Anyway, if this is about you fussing I’ve already elected to ignore it.”

“Gracious of you,” Uzumaki said flatly.

The prize of the platter was a large, shiny sea urchin, scraped clean and filled back up with its own edible fleshy bits, chopped and mixed with briny seaweed and three kinds of roe. A prize fit for a Daimyo’s table.

Although the way Tobirama scooped it into his mouth with his fingers was sure to shock anyone who sat at said table.

“Don’t worry,” he said around a last mouthful, “that’s the family discount.” Uzumaki snorted, looking up at him incredulously. Tobirama paid him no mind; now that he was full to the point of stuffed the lure of sleep was taking back over. “Where’s Shishou?” he slurred, slumping, arms wrapped around his distended stomach.

Uzumaki sighed, “Well, he’s tired, isn’t he? Probably still collapsed on the nearest agreeable surface after that ritual.”

“Oh.” Tobirama mulled that over a moment. “Goodnight then.”

“Uh, what?” Uzumaki sat up, startled, just to catch a wave of water from Tobirama limply tipping back over into the pool.

Sleep was good.

Sleep meant Otsuno was there the next time he surfaced, clear minded, and merely hungry as opposed to ravenous.

The steam leaking from him was just barely discernible now, quite possibly more a figment of imagination than anything perceived in truth. A relief to be sure, there was no way to go home until that cleared up and there was no telling how long it would take. Speaking of…

“How long has it been?” he asked, flopping on his teacher’s lap and ignoring his startled and aggravated yelp at the sudden wetness.

A hand settled heavily on his head. A sigh. “Well,” Otsuno began dryly, “the ritual concluded at dawn, as is traditional. And of course we were all tired afterwards, understandably, so we slept late. And you slept all day.”

He did _what?!_ So much for returning at a reasonable hour with believable excuses. Oh, _fuck_ , he was in so much trouble. Butsuma was going to be _incensed._ No son of his was allowed to disappear out of the compound without warning, not after the last time Hashirama wandered about unsupervised.

“So now it’s midnight,” Otsuno concluded sardonically. “Happy birthday, kitten. You still have most of puberty to look forward to still!”

Tobirama groaned, “If my father doesn’t kill me for disappearing first.” Was it too late to crawl back into the pool? For forever maybe? Surely, that wasn’t unreasonable.

“Eh, if that’s the side you’re choosing to look on,” Otsuno shrugged nonchalantly.

“The one that matters?” Tobirama said sarcastically, rolling out of Otsuno’s lap to glare at him. Otsuno shrugged again.

“Anyway,” Otsuno grinned, his not nice smile that always, always heralded something unpleasant or ridiculous or some hellish combination of the two. Tobirama was instantly on guard “I brought you something.”

“Oh?” Tobirama cautiously took the bait.

Otsuno pulled a cloth wrapped bundle from behind him and presented it proudly. It tumbled open in Tobirama’s lap to reveal—

“A pipe?” Tobirama said skeptically. Admittedly, it was a pretty thing. Warm, red wood stem and a metal dragon clutching the bowl, the whole thing was as long as his forearm from mouthpiece to dragon head. “Why a pipe?”

“It’s your new meditation tool,” Otsuno said, a little too innocently. “You’re gonna have to explain the steam somehow. Might as well go the whole nine yards. Hey, you could even put some actual tobacco in there to complete the image—”

“This is, without a doubt, the most useless thing you’ve ever given me,” Tobirama interrupted, turning the pipe over in his hands. It had some good heft to it, enough to almost be a proper battleworthy kiseru were it not so short and slender. “And you once made me read an entire tome’s worth of internecine kappa politics.”

Otsuno just grinned unrepentantly. “I try.”

“You do something alright.”

 


	53. Reporting for duty is not how you sneak in past curfew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another teeth-puller. Glad this is done.

_Otsuno just grinned unrepentantly. “I try.”_

_“You do something alright.”_

* * *

 His room was dark when Botan popped them in, the sun long set and swallowing up the corners with thick shadows. The little bonsai kodama raised a sleepy head out of its pot on the window sill to wave in greeting. Tobirama politely returned it.

He took a deep breath and just let himself relax for the first time since he’s woken up. This, right here, this was the comfort of familiarity and the feel of his loved ones being close. Another breath, and he was moving to change out of his salt-stiff clothes. Those he would have to wash himself if he didn’t want to raise suspicion.

He paused at the door, mouth pursed, thinking. He turned away, headed for the little shrine set up in the corner, pinched off a bit of incense and lit it. Lavender faintly permeated the air. He unlooped Churippu from his wrist and folded her between his hands, not quite the way things were done but she liked to feel involved and Tobirama saw no reason not to acquiesce.

And for the first time since he started the habit of prayer, Tobirama prayed to someone instead of for someone. A quick message, whispered in the dark. An assurance.

* * *

 He capped the incense to douse it and headed for the door. He had duty to report for, and an audience who’d be less than pleased at his absence.

Like cities, shinobi compounds didn’t truly sleep. Even at this time of night there was still a hustle and bustle of people still awake; patrols, night shift, people prepping food for the next morning, parents with infants, etc.

Clan Heads with wayward sons in their office with several Elders, chakra roiling and furious.

 _Well, here goes nothing,_ Tobirama shrugged resignedly, and knocked on the door.

“Enter.” came the terse command.

Deep breath. Squared shoulders. Tobirama slipped into the room and primly presented himself, as if nothing were amiss. Waiting for his father, or Elders Nadare, Akahiko, and Hiina to notice him.

Elder Nadare noticed him first, doing a swift double take and hooting with shocked laughter. It caught the others’ attention, and, well, Tobirama could admit to a deep sense of satisfaction at the way his father’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide. Akahiko buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Hiina gave him a swift once over, then rolled her eyes, smacking Akahiko’s shoulder with a wrinkled hand, “I blame you for this.”

“How is this my fault?” Akahiko protested, as if he weren’t biting his lips to keep his laughter stifled. Nadare collapsed against the desk, wheezing. “Nadare was a bloody pirate! And blood related.” He added.

Hiina sniffed, drawing her shawl about her, “You were an utter hooligan in your youth. Clearly, you’ve filled the boy’s head with nonsense!”

“Ha, Hiina hasn’t acknowledged my existence since the day I ran from our arranged marriage!” Nadare gasped, trying to wobble upright, mostly succeeding.

True to form, Hiina blatantly ignored Nadare in favor of squinting at Akahiko while he spluttered his innocence. “Oh, come on, Hiina, I didn’t get into half as much shit as Kenma did. Clearly, this is _his_ fault! The bloodline bred true!”

“May his soul languish in sobriety,” Nadare intoned automatically, Akahiko and then Hiina following suit.

Butsuma slowly collapsed face forward into his hands, almost buried from sight by stacks of scrolls. He might have also made a plaintive nose, soft and buried under Nadare laughing as it was. For the sake of his father’s dignity, and filial duty, Tobirama graciously pretended not to hear it.

“Tobirama.” He said into his palms.

Tobirama straightened at the tone. “Yes, sir.”

His father gave him such a helpless look over his hands that Tobirama had to stifle an automatic pang of guilt. As well as reflexive annoyance. The resemblance to Hashirama had never been keener, and thus, more irritating.

“I— Why tattoos? What even for? What could have possibly motivated you to think this was a worthwhile endeavor?” Butsuma asked, now massaging his forehead. “Is this some notion of trying to be intimidating? Are you trying to disguise your chubby cheeks? I keep telling you, you’ll grow out of them eventually.”

Scratch that; Tobirama felt no guilt. He felt the opposite of guilt, which in this case meant an inclination to go get _more_ tattoos until people stopped giving him grief over it and his father had sufficiently paid for that crack about his cheeks. That were _not chubby!_

Speaking of tattoos…

“They’re my second tattoo, actually,” Tobirama informed him tartly, and the office went silent. “I got a bigger one months ago. You never noticed.” He says, as if he hadn’t been actively hiding it.

Nadare collapsed in another fit of laughter.

“Excuse me?” Hiina demanded. “Did I hear you right? Are you implying that you managed to sneak out to some — I don’t even know if you’re going to a parlor — some place we don’t know about to get tattoos for some time now, and _this_ is the first time we’ve noticed your absence?” Tobirama really had nothing to say that; if you tilted your head sideways it was even kind of true. Hiina squinted at him thoughtfully. “That’s some damn fine stealth you’ve cultivated.”

“Hiina!” Butsuma cried, aghast. “You’re supposed to be on my side about this, not congratulating him.”

“I am on your side,” Hiina sniffed. “That’s why I’m about to berate your foolish son for getting decorative tattoos instead of seals. It’s a waste of otherwise useful skin. Why, in my day—”

“Your day spawned that,” Akahiko interjected dryly, pointing at the wheezing pirate in their midst. “And if memory hasn’t rotted on me yet, it wasn’t _that_ long ago you used to have a lover in every nearby town, and some along the path to Uzushio.”

“What makes you think I don’t still?” Hiina raised her brows challengingly. And wow, Tobirama did not need to know that, ever. “I’ve aged like a fine wine.”

“Yeah,” Nadare smirked, “straight to vinegar—”

“Getting back to the point,” Butsuma interjected before things could devolve further. “What do you have to say for yourself, Tobirama?”

And he thought about it, truly. About what he could say to defend being absent, some excuse that might appease his father. He could agree it was some ill-thought idea to unnerve enemies, or perhaps say he was congratulating himself for living so long. It’d certainly be believable. He even thought about what kind of apology would get him out of the most trouble.

In the end, he discarded all of them.

“I have nothing to say,” Tobirama declared. “And no regrets.”

At this rate, Nadare was going to have a heart attack.

“I see,” Butsuma said flatly. “I suppose I should be grateful you picked a time when you had no missions allotted, were off the security roster, and the borders were quiet. I cannot fault your timing, merely the lack of warning. Dare I ask when you got the other?”

“My last mission to Sarumura,” Tobirama said, thinking fast. “It took me less than an hour to resolve the letter of the mission, so I had a couple days free. While I was there I made the acquaintance of a fisherman.” There, all of that was true, if not the whole truth. Let them draw the obvious from that and be done with it.

“I see,” Butsuma repeated, still flat. “For going awol consider yourself confined to the compound for the rest of the month, and be grateful I’ll leave it at that.”

Tobirama hid a sigh of relief, nodding in agreement, “Yes, si-ir—” He clapped a hand to his mouth, horrified.

“Oho!” Akahiko laughed gleefully. “Is that a breaking voice I hear?”

“No!” Tobirama exclaimed. “It was just a hiccu-up!” He pursed his mouth, flushing bright red in embarrassment. Of all the awful timing...

“Would you look at that,” Butsuma mused, tone lightening with satisfaction. “For once, karma is on my side.” Nadare slid down to the floor. No one helped him up.

Tobirama scowled but didn’t dare open his mouth and embarrass himself further.

“And when you do that you just make your cheeks look chubbier,” Butsuma added.

To hell with this; he was going back to his room.

 

 


	54. The flight of owls. Just the one, really

_“And when you do that you just make your cheeks look chubbier,” Butsuma added._

_To hell with this; he was going back to his room._

* * *

He ended up sleeping late into the morning, the early morning sunbeams strategically blocked by the crab apple bonsai in the window. He was warm, relaxed, and surrounded by sleepy contentment. Botan had an arm lazily draped over him, Churippu was nestled under his chin, and sometime during the night the as yet still unnamed kodama had draped itself over his face like an apple scented, squishy, bean bag.

It’s easy as anything now to ride the utter relaxation into meditation and restore his reserves of bright, golden chakra.

His lungs feel different now that he has the wherewithal to check them; there were folds in the tissue where there weren’t before, and an oddly pervasive warmth kindling in them that was all new.

Ryuuko-kogo had told him amphibious youkai traditionally started with the lungs first, then the heart, implying as she did that terrestrial youkai did it the other way around. That it was important to start with a system that reached every part of the body to better spread out the impact of the changes, and to better form a foundation on which the other alterations could piggyback off of. Otherwise you ran the risk of calcifying from over saturation.

With a soft inhalation of smoke, he gently pulled the sleeping kodama off his face and shuffled off of Botan to plop it back in its pot. A quick poke at the dirt determined the tree was doing fine on water.

Tobirama pillowed his head on his arms on the window sill with a yawn, absently nudging the window open in the faint hope some brisk air will better wake him up—

An owl screech startled him upright.

In the white pine tree outside his window the tatarimokke blinked large dark eyes. Clacking its beak, it spread its wings and shuffled on the branch, bobbing its head as if to look between him and the sill. Curious, Tobirama nudged the window open further, a silent invitation.

Up close, the tatarimokke was disconcertingly normal looking beyond its too aware gaze and vaguely eerie chakra.

“Hello,” Tobirama murmured. “I haven’t seen you in a couple days. Have you been well?”

The owl gave a shake of its feathers, turning to groom at the inside of one wing. _Well,_ Tobirama thought dryly, _that’s a familiar gesture._

A strange creak came from the pine, he looked up just as a branch bent and snapped off, hanging by a strip of bark. As he watched the weight of the branch pulled the strip of bark down until it too snapped.

Strange, have children been playing in the branches recently? He didn’t recall.

“Since you’re here, do mind taking another letter?” Tobirama asked. A rustle from the bed heralded Churippu slinking out of the blanket; he held a hand out for her and she curled up around his throat with a rattle that was somehow chirpy in greeting.

The owl considered it a long moment before bobbing its head in agreement.

“Great!” Tobirama shuffled over to his low desk and grabbed a letter he’d penned the other day. He’d meant to send it yesterday but, well, meeting the dragons had taken longer than he’d expected. “Same people as last time, okay?”

The owl bobbed in seeming affirmation and grabbed the letter, awkwardly toddling around until it faced out the window and took off.

* * *

Hashirama was crying on him. This was the worst morning ever.

Tobirama should have stayed out of sight, stayed in his bedroom, or hidden in the Repository, or _something._ Anything but daring to make the mistake of wandering into the main dining room with his face bare and his leg wrapping absent.

Now there’s an overly emotional lug _crying_ on him and pinching his face, of all the indignities.

“Get _off,_ Anija!” Tobirama shoved at the tree masquerading as human trying to grow around him, feeling like an old kunai stuck in new growth. “You’re being weird!”

Hashirama staggered back as if he’d received a mortal blow and landed hard on his backside, face pulled into comically aghast lines. Tobirama ignored him as he so richly deserved and knelt at the table, snatching up an empty bowl just as a hand snatched his right leg and yanked him askew. He slammed his hands on the table to just barely avoid face-planting with an embarrassingly loud yelp.

Hashirama eyed the blue, serpentine dragon twined three times around his shin, frowning. “I can’t believe you got tattoos without Touka.”

Tobirama winced, then chucked his bowl at Hashirama’s head to hide it.

“Ow!” Hashirama let go of his leg in favor of cowering away from any more projectiles, rubbing his head with a pout. “I’m just saying, normally she’s the one dragging you into trouble. Or who you share the exploits of your trouble with if you’re feeling inclined to leave physical evidence.”

Tobirama grabbed another bowl, pulling the tureen of miso soup closer as well, saying over his shoulder, “I don’t always feel inclined to share, you know. Sometimes, I like to do my own thing without other people getting involved.”

“I know.” Hashirama scooted up to the table and helpfully nudged a plate of onigiri over. “It’s just a bit, um, jarring. Now that you’re branching away from me an’ Touka. Not bad!” He hurried to add. “Just, different.”

“Wasn’t exactly sunshine on my end when you did either,” Tobirama stated dryly, digging into his bowl of miso. “I’m just growing up, Hashirama. It was going to happen sometime. _Some_ of us saw it coming.”

“That’s not a fair accusation, you were being secretive and prickly.” Hashirama pouted. “You’ve been secretive and prickly for months now, mind, the whole tattoo thing is just the first inkling you’ve given us as to what’s going on behind it.”

Whatever Tobirama could have said to that, and it would not have been pleasant or kind for either of them, died between his teeth as he caught sight of a familiar kodama toddling around Hashirama’s legs and rattling curiously at his long hair. As he watched, the kodama clambered up on Hashirama’s knee and wiggled its limbs around to bat at the strands his slumping put in reach.

“Tobi? Are you even listening?” Hashirama bent down further, making big watery eyes, Tobirama’s most hated weakness.

The kodama eagerly grabbed the hair and started inching its way to Hashirama’s scalp.

“You have something in your hair,” Tobirama blurted.

“Eh?” Hashirama automatically reached up to pat at his scalp. “There shouldn’t be, I wasn’t outside long—”

“Here, I’ll get it!” Tobirama batted Hashirama’s hands away, shuffling behind him and pulling his hair back over his shoulders, taking one tiny, unrepentant kodama with. A tiny, unrepentant kodama who didn’t want to let go and squished itself into a ball around its hank of hair. Tobirama gave it his best impression of Otsuno’s disapproving glare.

The kodama curled tighter.

Now was a great time to remember Otsuno had been waging an unsuccessful war over his peonies with the local kodama for several centuries to no avail.

As he so eloquently put it; kodama didn’t give much of a shit about anything. Vehemence may vary. Frustration did not.

“What are you doing back there?” Hashirama made to turn his head and Tobirama hastily yanked on his hair on the opposite side until he got the message, subsiding with a patient huff.

“I just told you!” Tobirama snapped, yet still trying to be gentle about dislodging the kodama. Gentle-ish. Hashirama had a thick scalp and an even thicker head, he’d weather a little tugging just fine. The kodama squished out of shape in a disturbing fashion before it finally had no choice but to let go, snapping back into shape like a rubber band.

“Did you get it?” Hashirama asked, trying to turn around again. Tobirama hastily shoved the kodama in a pocket and scrambled to his feet. “Where are you going? You haven’t even finished breakfast!”

Tobirama scooped up a few onigiri and back away. “Yes, I— have koto lessons. Right now. Can’t be late.”

Hashirama’s brows drew together incredulously. “Isn’t Akahiko with Father right now—”

“Errands!” Tobirama barely resisted the urge to smack himself in the face. “I have errands to run before lessons! And, and they’re time consuming. I have to start right now or I’ll be late. For koto lessons.” He added lamely.

“Okay?” Hashirama’s chakra was slowly shifting to concerned. With a capital C.

Screw it. He shunshined.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Explaining Japanese terms: A Tsukumogami is any object that achieves a certain age and becomes possessed by a spirit. Since they're typically very well worn, and sometimes badly neglected, they're not usually charitable towards humans. A Boroboroton is a possessed futon, they are very not nice to humans, they roam around at night looking to strangle people. Kamikakushi is the term for someone being spirited away. It means 'hidden by kami', an alternate term would be onikakushi, 'hidden by oni'.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [make new friends but keep the old](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928924) by [Lesath_Lux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesath_Lux/pseuds/Lesath_Lux)




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